Prim's Adventures Underground: And What She Found There
by Stuart Pidasso
Summary: One day while reading the annotated Alice, I imagined Prim as the little girl Alice. And since I needed to do something silly, a crossover made perfect sense to me. Why? Because I'm mad. And quoting the Cheshire Cat, "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're m
1. Down the Elevator Shaft

Author's Note: This is a retelling of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass with Prim replacing Alice. Effie replaces the Mad Hatter with Cinna replacing the March Hare. Not all of the Wonderland characters were replaced with Hunger Games people, just when it seemed fitting. I tried to preserve the magic, making minimal changes when possible. One liberty I gave myself was to update the punctuation to today's standards to make it easier on the reader.

More changes will be found in Part II: Looking Glass. If you've studied the books, you then know that Looking Glass was actually a solemn book. This reflected well with Prim as Alice, requiring a more changes in the later chapters. I also reinserted the "A Wasp in a Wig" section.

 **Part I: Wonderland**

 **CHAPTER I: Down the Elevator Shaft**

Prim was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister in their compartment, and of having nothing to do in District 13. Once or twice, she had peeped at Katniss's tablet to see what training manual she was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, _and what is the use of a book_ , thought Prim, _without pictures or Conversations?_

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for never going outside made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the challenge of descending and climbing the stairs would calm her nerves, when suddenly, Beetee came to a stop in his wheelchair before their compartment door, which had been forbiddingly propped open!

There was nothing so _very_ remarkable in that; nor did Prim think it so _very_ much out of the way to hear Beetee say to himself, "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!" (When she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time, it all seemed quite natural.) But when Beetee actually looked at his communicuff before _jumping out of his wheelchair_ , and hurrying on, Prim started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen Beetee out of his wheelchair since being injured in the Quarter Quell. And burning with curiosity, she ran into the corridor, past his wheelchair, around a corner, and fortunately was just in time to see the man pop into an open elevator.

Lunging for the call button, Prim stopped the doors from closing, but when she entered, the car was empty. Certain she had seen Beetee, Prim stood dumbfounded as she watched the elevator doors close. When she took notice a few seconds later that the normally busy elevator failed to move, the floor beneath her most unexpectedly fell away.

Screaming from the initial fright, Prim had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep elevator shaft. Either the shaft was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything. Then she looked at the sides of the shaft, and noticed that they were no longer concrete, but rock, filled with cupboards and bookshelves. Here and there, she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled _ORANGE MARMALADE_ , but to her great disappointment it was empty. She did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.

 _Well_ , thought Prim to herself, _after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs. How brave they'll all think me at home. Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house._ (Which was very likely true.)

Down, down, down. Would the fall _never_ come to an end! "I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?" she said aloud. "I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see; that would be four thousand miles down, I think." (For, you see, Prim had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this was not a _very_ good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over.) "Yes, that's about the right distance, but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I've got to?" (Prim had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.)

Presently she began again. "I wonder if I shall fall right _through_ the earth. How funny it'll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downward. The Antipathies, I think." (She was rather glad there _was_ no one listening, this time, as it didn't sound at all the right word.) "But I shall have to ask them what the name of the country is, you know. Please, Ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia?" (And she tried to curtsey as she spoke—fancy _curtseying_ as you're falling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) "And what an ignorant little girl she'll think me for asking. No, it'll never do to ask. Perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere."

Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Prim soon began talking again. "Buttercup will miss me very much tonight, I should think." (Buttercup was the cat.) "I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk before dinner. Buttercup, my dear, I wish you were down here with me. There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?" And here Prim began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, "Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?" and sometimes, "Do bats eat cats?" for you see, as she couldn't answer either question, it didn't much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Buttercup, saying to her very earnestly, "Now, Buttercup, tell me the truth; did you ever eat a bat?" when suddenly, _thump! thump!_ down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.

Prim was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up onto her feet in a moment. She looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was a long passage, and Beetee was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost. Away went Prim like the wind, and was just in time to hear the man say as he turned a corner, "Oh my squares and compasses, how late it's getting!"

She was close behind him when she turned the corner, but Beetee was no longer to be seen. She found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof. There were doors all-round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Prim had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.

Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass. There was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Prim's first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but alas, either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, but at any rate, it would not open any of them. However, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high. She tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight, it fitted.

Prim opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole. She knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head through the doorway; _and even if my head would go through_ , thought poor Prim, _it would be of very little use without my shoulders._ "Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope. I think I could, if I only knew how to begin." For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that Prim had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.

There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate, a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes. This time she found a little bottle on it, ("which certainly was not here before," said Prim,) and round the neck of the bottle was a paper label with the words _DRINK ME_ beautifully printed on it in large letters.

It was all very well to say _drink me_ , but the wise little Prim was not going to do _that_ in a hurry. "No, I'll look first," she said, "and see whether it's marked _poison_ or not." For she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burnt and eaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they _would_ not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them. Such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that if you cut your finger _very_ deeply with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked _poison_ , it is almost certain to disagree with you sooner or later.

However, this bottle was _not_ marked _poison_ , so Prim ventured to taste it, and finding it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, wild-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast,) she very soon finished it off.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"What a curious feeling," said Prim, "I must be shutting up like a telescope."

And so it was indeed, she was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going through the little door into that lovely garden. First, however, she waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further. She felt a little nervous about this. "For it might end, you know," said Prim to herself, "in my going out altogether, like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?" And she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after the candle is blown out, for she could not remember ever having seen such a thing.

After a while, finding that nothing more happened, she decided on going into the garden at once; but alas for poor Prim, when she got to the door, she found she had forgotten the little golden key. And when she went back to the table for it, she found she could not possibly reach it. She could see it quite plainly through the glass, and she tried her best to climb up one of the legs of the table, but it was too slippery; and when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried.

"Come, there's no use in crying like that," said Prim to herself rather sharply; "I advise you to leave off this minute." She generally gave herself very good advice (though she very seldom followed it), and sometimes, she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears into her eyes. Moreover, once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself, for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people. "But it's no use now," thought poor Prim, "to pretend to be two people. Why, there's hardly enough of me left to make _one_ respectable person."

Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table. She opened it and found in it a very small cake on which the words _EAT ME_ were beautifully marked in currants. "Well, I'll eat it," said Prim, "and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way, I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens."

She ate a little bit and said anxiously to herself, "Which way? Which way?" as she held her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing. She was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Prim had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.

So she set to work and very soon finished off the cake.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\


	2. The Pool of Tears

**CHAPTER II: The Pool of Tears**

"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Prim (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English). "Now I'm opening out like the largest telescope that ever was. Good-bye, feet." (For when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight; they were getting so far off.) "Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I'm sure I shan't be able. I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you. You must manage the best way you can." _But I must be kind to them_ , thought Prim, _or perhaps they won't walk the way I want to go. Let me see; I'll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas._

And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. "They must go by the carrier, she thought aloud, "and how funny it'll seem, sending presents to one's own feet. And how odd the directions will look."

"PRIM"S RIGHT FOOT, ESQ.

COMPARTMENT E,

NEAR THE TINY WINDOW,

(WITH PRIM's LOVE)."

"Oh dear, what nonsense I'm talking."

Just then, her head struck against the roof of the hall. In fact, she was now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.

Poor Prim! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side to look through into the garden with one eye, but to get through was more hopeless than ever. She sat down and began to cry again.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Prim, "a great girl like you," (she might well say this), "to go on crying in this way. Stop this moment, I tell you!" Nevertheless, she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears until there was a large pool all round her about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.

After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was Beetee returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other. He came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, "Oh! Duchess Johanna, Duchess Johanna. Oh, won't she be savage if I've kept her waiting."

Prim felt so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so when Beetee came near her, she began in a low, timid voice, "If you please, sir—"

Beetee started violently, dropped the white gloves and the fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.

Prim took up the fan and gloves, and as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking, "Dear, dear. How queer everything is today. And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think; was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is: Who in the world am I? Ah, _that's_ the great puzzle." And she began thinking over all the children she knew who had survived the bombing of District 12 to see if she could have been changed for any of them.

"I'm sure I'm not Posy," she said, "for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at all; and I'm sure I can't be Rory, for I know all sorts of things, and he, oh, he knows such a very little. Besides, he's a he, and I'm I, and—oh dear, how puzzling it all is. I'll try to recall all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear, I shall never get to twenty at that rate. However, the Multiplication Table doesn't signify; let's try the districts. District Six is lumber, and District Five's industry is fishing, and District Three... No, that's all wrong; I'm certain. I must have been changed for Rory. I'll try and say 'How doth the little—'" And Prim crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:

"How doth the little crocodile

Improve his shining tail,

And pour the waters of the Nile

On every golden scale.

"How cheerfully he seems to grin,

How neatly spread his claws,

And welcome little fishes in

With gently smiling jaws."

"I'm sure those are not the right words," said poor Prim, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on, "I must be Rory after all, and I shall have to go and live deeper below District 13 without a window, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh, ever so many lessons to learn. No, I've made up my mind about it; if I'm Rory, I'll stay down here. It'll be no use their putting their heads down and saying 'Come up again, dear.' I shall only look up and say 'Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I'll come up; if not, I'll stay down here till I'm somebody else'. But, oh dear!" cried Prim with a sudden burst of tears, "I do wish they _would_ put their heads down. I am so very tired of being all alone here."

As she said this, she looked down at her hands and was surprised to see that she had put on one Beetee's white gloves while she was talking. _How can I have done that?_ she thought. _I must be growing small again._ She got up and went to the table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly. She soon found out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether.

"That _was_ a narrow escape," said Prim, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence. "And now for the garden," she said, running with all speed back to the little door. But, alas, the little door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before. "And things are worse than ever," thought the poor child aloud, "for I never was so small as this before, never. And I declare it's too bad, that it is."

As she said these words, her foot slipped, and in another moment, _splash_! She was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, "and in that case I can go back by railway," she said to herself. (Prim had been told about the touristy seaside by her friend Finnick, about how the tourist from the Capitol often visited the ocean. Moreover, she had come to the general conclusion that whenever someone goes to on the District 4 coast, they will find a number of bathing machines in the sea, children digging in the sand with wooden spades, rows of lodging houses, and behind them, a railway station.) However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.

"I wish I hadn't cried so much." said Prim as she swam about, trying to find her way out. "I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears. That _will_ be a queer thing to be sure; however, everything is queer today."

Just then, she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way off, and she swam nearer to make out what it was. At first, she thought it must be a muttation, but then she remembered how small she was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had slipped in like herself.

 _Would it be of any use now_ , thought Prim, _to speak to this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here that I should think very likely it can talk. At any rate, there's no harm in trying._ So she began, "O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!" (Prim thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse. She had never done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen in her sister's old Grammar book, a mouse...of a mouse...to a mouse...a mouse...O mouse!)

The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively and seemed, to her, to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.

 _Perhaps it doesn't understand English_ , thought Prim; _I daresay it's a Quebec mouse, come down during the Dark Days._ (For with all her knowledge of history, Prim had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.) So she began again, "Ou est ma chatte?", which was the only French Canadian she knew.

The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water and seemed to quiver all over with fright.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," cried Prim hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal's feelings. "I quite forgot you didn't like cats."

"Not like cats!" cried the Mouse in a shrill, passionate voice. "Would _you_ like cats if you were me?"

"Well, perhaps not," said Prim in a soothing tone. "Don't be angry about it. And yet, I wish I could show you our cat Buttercup. I think you'd take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear quiet thing," said Prim, half to herself as she swam lazily about in the pool. "And she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face, and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse, and she's such a capital one for catching mice. Oh, I beg your pardon," cried Prim again, for this time, the Mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be really offended. "We won't talk about her any more if you'd rather not."

"We indeed!" cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his tail. "As if I would talk on such a subject. Our family always _hated_ cats: nasty, low, vulgar things. Don't let me hear the name again."

"I won't indeed," said Prim in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation. "Are you...are you fond...of...of dogs?'

The Mouse did not answer, so Prim went on eagerly. "There was such a nice little dog near our house I could have shown you. A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long curly brown hair. And it'll fetch things when you throw them, and it'll sit up and beg for its dinner and all sorts of things—I can't remember half of them—and it belongs to a sheep farmer, you know, and he says it's so useful, it's worth a lot of money. He says it kills all the rats and—oh dear!" cried Prim in a sorrowful tone, "I'm afraid I've offended it again."

For the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, making quite the commotion in the pool as it went.

So she called softly after it, "Mouse dear, do come back again, and we won't talk about cats or dogs either if you don't like them."

When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to her. Its face was quite pale (with passion, Prim thought), and it said in a low trembling voice, "Let us get to the shore, and then I'll tell you my history, and you'll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs."

It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Jabberjay and a Mockingjay, and several other curious creatures. Prim led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.


	3. A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale

**CHAPTER III: A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale**

They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank: the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close to them, and all dripping wet, cross, and uncomfortable.

The first question of course was how to get dry again. They had a consultation about this, and after a few minutes, it seemed quite natural to Prim to find herself talking familiarly with them, as if she had known them all her life.

Indeed, she had quite a long argument with the Jabberjay, who at last turned sulky and would only say, "I am older than you, and must know better"; and this Prim would not allow without knowing how old it was, and as the Jabberjay positively refused to tell its age, there was no more to be said.

At last, the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of authority among them, called out, "Sit down, all of you, and listen to me. _I'll_ soon make you dry enough."

They all sat down at once in a large ring with the Mouse in the middle. Prim kept her eyes anxiously fixed on it, for she felt sure she would catch a bad cold if she did not get dry very soon.

"Ahem," said the Mouse with an important air, "are you all ready? This is the driest thing I know. Silence all round, if you please. 'As written in the Treaty of Treason, the president shall have the sole power to appoint a Head Gamemaker to plan and manage the required yearly Games. The president may terminate and reappoint the position, as deemed fit, to ensure a successful Games is hosted yearly—'"

"Ugh!" said the Jabberjay with a shiver.

"I beg your pardon," said the Mouse, frowning in a polite manner. "Did you speak?"

"Not I," said the Jabberjay hastily.

"I thought you did," said the Mouse. "I proceed. 'The Head Gamemaker in turn will have a yearly stipend, budgeted by the senate financial committee for the creation of arenas, uniforms, and television. The Head Gamemaker should find it advisable—'"

"Find _what_?" asked the Duck.

"Find _it_ ," the Mouse replied rather crossly. "Of course, you know what 'it' means?"

"I know what 'it' means well enough, when I find a thing," said the Duck, "it's generally a frog or a worm. The question is: what did the Head Gamemaker find?"

The Mouse did not notice this question, but hurriedly went on, "'Find it advisable to monitor audience ratings and meet regularly with the president to ensure the continued success of the Games. If need be, the Head Gamemaker my employee experienced producers from the entertaining industry as advisors if—' How are you getting on now, my dear?" the Mouse continued, turning to Prim as it spoke.

"As wet as ever," said Prim in a melancholy tone. "It doesn't seem to dry me at all."

"In that case," said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet, "I move that the meeting adjourn for the immediate adoption of more energetic remedies."

"Speak English," said the Mockingjay. "I don't know the meaning of half those long words, and what's more, I don't believe you do either." And the Mockingjay bent down its head to hide a smile as some of the other birds tittered audibly.

"What I was going to say," said the Dodo in an offended tone, "was that the best thing to get us dry would be a Caucus-race."

"What _is_ a Caucus-race?" asked Prim, not that she wanted much to know, but the Dodo had paused as if it thought that _somebody_ ought to speak with no one seemingly inclined to say anything.

"Why," said the Dodo, "the best way to explain it is to do it." (And as you might like to try the thing yourself some winter day, I will tell you how the Dodo managed it.)

First the Dodo marked out a racecourse in a sort of circle, ("The exact shape doesn't matter," it said.) and then all the party were placed along the course here and there. There was no 'One, two, three, and away,' but they began running when they liked and left off when they liked so that it was not easy to know when the race was over. However, when they had been running half an hour or so, and were quite dry again, the Dodo suddenly called out "The race is over!"

They all crowded round it, panting, and asking, "But who has won?"

This question the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of thought, and it sat for a long time with one finger pressed upon its forehead (the position in which you usually see Shakespeare, in the pictures of him) while the rest waited in silence. At last the Dodo said, " _Everybody_ has won, and all must have prizes."

"But who is to give the prizes?" quite a chorus of voices asked.

"Why, _she_ , of course," said the Dodo, pointing to Prim with one wing.

And the whole party at once crowded round her, calling out in a confused way, "Prizes! Prizes!"

Prim had no idea what to do, and in despair, she put her hand into her pocket and pulled out her bottle of vitamin D tablets given to her by District 13 (luckily the salt water had not got into it) and handed them round as prizes. There was exactly one apiece all round.

"But she must have a prize herself, you know," said the Mouse.

"Of course," the Dodo replied very gravely. "What else have you got in your pocket?" he went on, turning to Prim.

"Only a thimble from District Twelve," said Prim sadly.

"Hand it over here," said the Dodo.

Then they all crowded round her once more while the Dodo solemnly presented the thimble, saying, "We beg your acceptance of this elegant thimble." When the bird finished this short speech, they all cheered.

Prim thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all looked so grave that she did not dare to laugh, and as she could not think of anything to say, she simply bowed and took the thimble, looking as solemn as she could.

The next thing was to swallow the vitamin D. This caused some noise and confusion as the large birds complained that they could not taste theirs, and the small ones choked and had to be patted on the back. However, it was over at last, and they sat down again in a ring and begged the Mouse to tell them something more.

"You promised to tell me your history, you know," said Prim. "And why it is you hate...C and D," she added in a whisper, half-afraid that it would be offended again.

"Mine is a long and a sad tale," said the Mouse, turning to Prim and sighing.

"It _is_ a long tail, certainly," said Prim, looking down with wonder at the Mouse's tail. "But why do you call it sad?" And she kept on puzzling about it while the Mouse was speaking so that her idea of the tale was something like this:

(author's note: fanfiction's site won't let me format the following properly. Those unfamiliar with Wonderland should know that the following words curved like a tail down the center of the page.)

Fury said to a  
mouse, that he  
met in the  
house,  
"Let us  
both go to  
law: I will  
prosecute  
YOU. —Come,  
I'll take no  
denial; we  
must have a  
trial: For  
really this  
morning I've  
nothing  
to do."  
Said the  
mouse to the  
cur, "Such  
a trial,  
dear Sir,  
with  
no jury  
or judge,  
would be  
wasting  
our  
breath."  
"I'll be  
judge, I'll  
be jury,"  
Said  
cunning  
old Fury:  
"I'll  
try the  
whole  
cause,  
and  
condemn  
you  
to  
Death."

"You are not attending!" said the Mouse to Prim severely. "What are you thinking of?"

"I beg your pardon," said Prim very humbly. "You had got to the fifth bend, I think?"

"I had _not_!" cried the Mouse, sharply and very angrily.

"A knot," said Prim always ready to make herself useful, and looking anxiously about her. "Oh, do let me help to undo it."

"I shall do nothing of the sort," said the Mouse, getting up and walking away. "You insult me by talking such nonsense."

"I didn't mean it," pleaded poor Prim. "But you're so easily offended, you know."

The Mouse only growled in reply.

"Please come back and finish your story," Prim called after it.

And the others all joined in chorus, "Yes, please do."

But the Mouse only shook its head impatiently and walked a little quicker.

"What a pity it wouldn't stay," sighed the Jabberjay as soon as furry creature was quite out of sight; and an old Crab took the opportunity of saying to her daughter, "Ah, my dear, let this be a lesson to you never to lose _your_ temper." "Hold your tongue, Ma," said a smaller Crab, a little snappishly. "You're enough to try the patience of an oyster."

"I wish I had my Buttercup here; I know I do!" said Prim aloud, addressing nobody in particular. "She'd soon fetch it back."

"And who is Buttercup, if I might venture to ask the question?" said the Jabberjay.

Prim replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet. "Buttercup is our cat. And she's such a capital one for catching mice, you can't think. And oh, I wish you could see her after the birds. Why, she'll eat a little bird as soon as look at it."

This speech caused a remarkable sensation among the party. Some of the birds hurried off at once; one old Magpie began wrapping itself up very carefully, remarking, "I really must be getting home; the night-air doesn't suit my throat." And a Canary called out in a trembling voice to its children, "Come away, my dears! It's high time you were all in bed!" On various pretexts, they all moved off, and Prim was soon left alone.

"I wish I hadn't mentioned Buttercup," she said to herself in a melancholy tone. "Nobody seems to like her down here, and I'm sure she's the best cat in the world. Oh, my dear Buttercup, I wonder if I shall ever see you anymore." And here poor Prim began to cry again, for she felt very lonely and low-spirited.

In a little while, however, she again heard a little pattering of footsteps in the distance, and she looked up eagerly, half hoping that the Mouse had changed his mind and was coming back to finish his story.


	4. Beetee Sends in Peeta

**CHAPTER IV: Beetee Sends in Peeta**

It was Beetee trotting slowly back again and looking anxiously about as he went—as if he had lost something, and Prim heard him muttering to himself, "Duchess Johanna. Duchess Johanna. Oh my dear spectacles! Oh my capacitors and diodes! She'll get me executed, as sure as Peacekeepers are Peacekeepers. Where _can_ I have dropped them, I wonder?"

Prim guessed in a moment that he was looking for the fan and the pair of white kid gloves, and she very good-naturedly began hunting about for them. But they were nowhere to be seen—everything seemed to have changed since her swim in the pool, and the great hall with the glass table and the little door had vanished completely.

Very soon, Beetee noticed Prim as she went hunting about and called out to her in an angry tone, "Why, Wiress, what _are_ you doing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan. Quick, now!"

And Prim was so much frightened that she ran off at once in the direction he pointed without trying to explain the mistake he had made. "He took me for his friend or something," she said to herself as she ran. "How surprised he'll be when he finds out who I am. But I'd better take him his fan and gloves. That is, if I can find them."

As she said this, she came upon a neat little house on the door of which was a bright brass plate with the name 'B. LATIER' engraved upon it. She went in without knocking and hurried upstairs in great fear, lest she should meet the real Wiress and be turned out of the house before she had found the fan and gloves.

"How queer it seems," Prim said to herself, "to be ordered about by Beetee, not to mention, talking to mice. I suppose Buttercup will be sending me on errands next." And she began fancying the sort of thing that would happen: 'Miss Prim! Come here directly, and get ready for your walk.' 'Coming in a minute, dearie, but I've got to see that the mouse doesn't get out.'

"Only I don't think," Prim went on, "that they'd let Buttercup remain in the bunker if he began ordering people about like that."

By this time she had found her way into a tidy little room with a table in the window, and on it (as she had hoped) a fan and two or three pairs of white gloves. She took up the fan and a pair of the gloves and was just going to leave the room when her eye fell upon a little bottle that stood near the looking-glass. There was no label this time with the words _DRINK ME_ , but nevertheless, she uncorked it and put it to her lips. "Whenever I eat or drink anything," she said to herself, "I know _something_ interesting is sure to happen, so I'll just see what this bottle does. I do hope it'll make me grow large again, for really I'm quite tired of being such a tiny little thing."

It did so indeed, and much sooner than she had expected. Before she had drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceiling and had to stoop to save her neck from being broken. She hastily put down the bottle, saying to herself, "That's quite enough; I hope I shan't grow any more. As it is, I can't get out at the door. I do wish I hadn't drunk quite so much."

Alas! It was too late to wish that. She went on growing...and growing...and very soon had to kneel down on the floor. In another minute, there was not even room for this, and she tried the effect of lying down with one elbow against the door and the other arm curled round her head. Still, she went on growing and as a last resource, she put one arm out of the window and one foot up the chimney, and said to herself, "Now I can do no more, whatever happens. What _will_ become of me?"

Luckily for Prim, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect, and she grew no larger. Still it was very uncomfortable, and as there seemed to be no sort of chance of her ever getting out of the room again, no wonder she felt unhappy.

 _It was much pleasanter at home_ , thought poor Prim, _when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and friends. I almost wish I hadn't gone into that elevator, and yet...and yet...it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life. I do wonder what can have happened to me. When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one. There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought. And when I grow up, I'll write one._ "But I'm grown up now," she added in a sorrowful tone. "At least there's no room to grow up any more _here_."

 _But then_ , thought Prim, _shall I never get any older than I am now? That'll be a comfort; one-way, never to be an old woman, but then, always to have lessons to learn. Oh, I shouldn't like 'that'._

"Oh, you foolish Prim," she answered herself. "How can you learn lessons in here? Why, there's hardly room for _you_ , and no room at all for any lesson-books."

And so she went on, taking first one side and then the other, and making quite a conversation of it altogether; but after a few minutes, she heard a voice outside and stopped to listen.

"Wiress! Wiress!" said the voice. "Fetch me my gloves this moment. Then came a little stomping of feet on the stairs.

Prim knew it was Beetee coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as large as Beetee and had no reason to be afraid of him.

Presently, Beetee came up to the door and tried to open it; but, as the door opened inwards, and Prim's elbow was pressed hard against it, that attempt proved a failure. The perturbed man said to himself, "Then I'll go round and get in at the window."

 _That you won't_ , thought Prim. And after waiting till she fancied she heard Beetee just under the window, she suddenly spread out her hand and made a snatch in the air. She did not get hold of anything, but she heard a shriek and a fall, and a crash of broken glass, from which she concluded that it was just possible he had fallen into a cucumber-frame, or something of the sort.

Next came an angry voice, Beetee's. "Gale! Gale! Where are you?"

And then a more familiar voice, Gale's. "Sure then I'm here. Digging for apples, boss"

"Digging for apples, indeed," said Beetee angrily. "Here, come and help me out of _this_." (Sounds of more broken glass.) "Now tell me, Gale; what's that in the window?"

"Sure, it's an arm, boss." (He pronounced it 'arrum.')

"An arm, you goose. Who ever saw one that size? Why, it fills the whole window."

"Sure, it does, boss, but it's an arm for all that."

"Well, it's got no business there, at any rate. Go and take it away."

There was a long silence after this, and Prim could only hear whispers now and then; such as, "Sure, I don't like it, boss, at all, at all." "Do as I tell you, you coward." and at last she spread out her hand again, and made another snatch in the air. This time there were _two_ little shrieks, and more sounds of broken glass. _What a number of cucumber-frames there must be,_ thought Prim. _I wonder what they'll do next. As for pulling me out of the window, I only wish they could. I'm sure I don't want to stay in here any longer._

She waited for some time without hearing anything more. At last came a rumbling of little cartwheels and the sound of a good many voices all talking together. She made out the words:

"Where's the other ladder?"

"Why, I hadn't to bring but one. Peeta's got the other."

"Peeta! Fetch it here, lad. Here, put 'em up at this corner. No, tie 'em together first; they don't reach half high enough yet. Oh, they'll do well enough; don't be particular."

"Here, Peeta, catch hold of this rope."

"Will the roof bear?"

"Mind that loose slate."

"Oh, it's coming down. Heads below!" (A loud crash)

"Now, who did that?"

"It was Peeta, I fancy."

"Who's to go down the chimney?"

"Nay, I shan't!"

" _You_ do it."

"That I won't, then."

"Peeta's to go down."

"Here, Peeta, Beetee says you're to go down the chimney."

"Oh, so Peeta's got to come down the chimney, has he?" said Prim to herself. "Shy, they seem to put everything upon Peeta! I wouldn't be in Peeta's place for a good deal. This fireplace is narrow, to be sure; but I _think_ I can kick a little."

She drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could and waited till she heard a sort of scratching and scrambling about in the chimney close above her. Then, saying to herself "This is Peeta," she gave one sharp kick and waited to see what would happen next.

The first thing she heard was a general chorus of "There goes Peeta!" then Beetee voice along, "Catch him, you by the hedge!"

Then silence, and then another confusion of voices:

"Hold up his head."

"Brandy now."

"Don't choke him."

"How was it, old fellow?"

"What happened to you?"

"Tell us all about it."

Last came a little feeble, squeaking voice, ( _That's Peeta_ , thought Prim) "Well, I hardly know. No more, thank ye; I'm better now, but I'm a deal too flustered to tell you. All I know is something comes at me like a Jack-in-the-box and up I goes like a sky-rocket."

"So you did, old fellow," said the others.

"We must burn the house down," said Beetee's voice.

And Prim called out as loud as she could, "If you do. I'll set Buttercup at you!"

There was a dead silence instantly, and Prim thought to herself, _I wonder what they will do next. If they had any sense, they'd take the roof off._

After a minute or two, they began moving about again, Beetee said, "A barrowful will do, to begin with."

 _A barrowful of 'what'?_ thought Prim, but she had not long to doubt, for the next moment, a shower of little pebbles came rattling in at the window, and some of them hit her in the face. "I'll put a stop to this," she said to herself, and shouted out, "You'd better not do that again!" which produced another dead silence.

Prim noticed with some surprise that the pebbles were all turning into little cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright idea came into her head. _If I eat one of these cakes_ , she thought, _it's sure to make some change in my size; and as it can't possibly make me larger, it must make me smaller, I suppose._

So she swallowed one of the cakes and was delighted to find that she began shrinking directly. As soon as she was small enough to get through the door, she ran out of the house and found quite a crowd of animals and little people waiting outside. The poor little baker, Peeta, was in the middle, being held up by two Avoxes who were giving him something out of a bottle. They all made a rush at Prim the moment she appeared, but she ran off as hard as she could and soon found herself safe in a thick wood.

"The first thing I've got to do," said Prim to herself, as she wandered about in the wood, "is to grow to my right size again; and the second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. I think that will be the best plan."

It sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and simply arranged; the only difficulty was that she had not the smallest idea how to set about it. And while she was peering about anxiously among the trees, a little sharp bark just over her head made her look up in a great hurry.

An enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, and feebly stretching out one paw, trying to touch her.

"Poor little thing," said Prim in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to it; however, she was terribly frightened all the time at the thought that it might be hungry; in which case, it would be very likely to eat her up in spite of all her coaxing.

Hardly knowing what she did, she picked up a little bit of stick and held it out to the puppy; whereupon the puppy jumped into the air off all its feet at once with a yelp of delight and rushed at the stick—and made believe to worry it. Then Prim dodged behind a great thistle to keep herself from being run over, and the moment she appeared on the other side, the puppy made another rush at the stick and tumbled head over heels in its hurry to get hold of it. Then Prim, thinking it was very like having a game of play with a cart-horse and expecting every moment to be trampled under its feet, ran round the thistle again. Then the puppy began a series of short charges at the stick, running a very little way forwards each time and a long way back, barking hoarsely all the while till at last, it sat down a good way off, panting with its tongue hanging out of its mouth and its great eyes half shut.

This seemed to Prim a good opportunity for making her escape, so she set off at once and ran till she was quite tired and out of breath, and till the puppy's bark sounded quite faint in the distance.

"And yet what a dear little puppy it was," said Prim as she leant against a spearwort plant to rest herself, fanning herself with one of the leaves. "I should have liked teaching it tricks very much, if...if I'd only been the right size to do it. Oh dear, I'd nearly forgotten that I've got to grow up again. Let me see, how _is_ it to be managed? I suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other, but the great question is, what?"

The great question certainly was _what_? Prim looked all round her at the flowers and the blades of grass, but she did not see anything that looked like the right thing to eat or drink under the circumstances. There was a large mushroom growing near her, about the same height as herself, and when she had looked under it, and on both sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her that she might as well look and see what was on the top of it.

She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the mushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large caterpillar, with somewhat a familiar human face, that was sitting on the top with its arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah and taking not the smallest notice of her or of anything else.


	5. Advice from a Caterpillar

**CHAPTER V: Advice from a Caterpillar**

The Caterpillar and Prim looked at each other for some time in silence. An insect smoking a hookah should have been enough to grab Prim's full attention, but instead, she focused on the creature's face, thinking it had a familiar human resemblance—the name on the tip of her tongue.

At last, the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice, "Who are _you_?"

Prim's inkling only grew when she heard the Caterpillar's deep, resonating voice; however, she could not place its name, and this was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Prim replied rather shyly, "I...I hardly know, sir, just at present...at least I know who I _was_ when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then."

"What do you mean by that?" asked the Caterpillar sternly. "Explain yourself."

"I can't explain _myself_ , I'm afraid, sir," said Prim, "because I'm not myself, you see."

"I don't see," said the Caterpillar.

"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," Prim replied very politely," for I can't understand it myself to begin with, and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing."

"It isn't," said the Caterpillar.

"Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet," said Prim, "but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will someday, you know, and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?"

"Not a bit," said the Caterpillar.

"Well, perhaps your feelings may be different," said Prim. "All I know is that it would feel very queer to _me_."

"You," said the Caterpillar contemptuously. "Who are _you_?"

Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Prim felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar's making such _very_ short remarks. Certain that the creatures face resembled that of a human, someone she might know, so she drew herself up and said very gravely, "I think you ought to tell me who _you_ are first."

"Why?" asked the Caterpillar.

Here was another puzzling question, and as Prim could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a _very_ unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.

"Come back," the Caterpillar called after her. "I've something important to say."

This sounded promising, certainly. Prim turned and came back again.

"Here is some advice: stay alive," said the Caterpillar.

"Come up with that on your own?" Prim asked, swallowing down her anger as well as she could when suddenly, she placed the voice and recalled the creature's name. "You're Claudius Templesmith."

"No," said the Caterpillar. "You are severely mistaken."

Not wanting to argue, Prim thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do. And perhaps after all, it might tell her something worth hearing.

For some minutes, it puffed away without speaking, but at last, it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, "If you must know, you are not the first person to mistake me for Claudius Templesmith."

Prim tilted her head to the side as she studied the insects face more closely. Having only seen the man a couple times during post Hunger Games commentary, Prim thought certain that this was Claudius. "You know, sir, you sound exactly like the announcer of the Hunger Games."

"If I'm Claudius, that would mean I'm a liar, and I do not lie."

Prim instantly remember a very important instance when Claudius Templesmith did exactly that. "You lied to my sister, in the Games. Remember?"

The Caterpillar returned to its hookah, diverting his gaze away as it smoked until it said, "Well… _that_ was not my fault."

"So, it is you." Prim attempted to hold back her gloating smile. "I do say that you've changed quite a bit."

"We all changed. You yourself have said you've recently changed."

"I'm afraid I have, sir," said Prim. "I can't remember things as I used, and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes together."

"Can't remember _what_ things?" said the Caterpillar.

"Well, I've tried to say 'How doth the little busy bee,' but it all came different," Prim replied in a very melancholy voice.

"Repeat, 'You are old, President Snow'," said Caterpillar.

Prim folded her hands, and began:

 _'You are old, President Snow,' a young woman said,  
_ _'And your hair has become very white;  
_ _And yet, you incessantly send children to their death—  
_ _Do you think, at your age, it is right?'_

 _'In my youth,' replied President Snow to his daughter,  
_ _'I feared the end of society;  
_ _But, now that I'm perfectly sure it won't falter,  
_ _Why, it's the success of our Treaty.'_

 _'You are old,' said the youth, 'as I mentioned before,  
_ _And have grown far too omnipotent;  
_ _Yet you are willing to risk all, risk war—  
_ _Pray, what fuels your endless intent?'_

 _'In my youth,' said the man, as he shook his white locks,  
_ _'I followed my heart and helped the humble  
_ _But with experience, reason won out—  
_ _With wisdom, only I can prevent Panem's tumble.'_

 _'You are old,' said the girl, 'and your jaws are too weak  
_ _For anything tougher than suet;  
_ _Yet you speak such nonsense, boasting with pale cheeks—  
_ _Pray how did you manage to do it?'_

 _'In my youth,' said her father, 'I became a senator,  
_ _And argued each bill and overcame each strife;  
_ _And the muscles developed as an orator,  
_ _Has lasted the rest of my life.'  
_

 _'You are old,' said the youth, 'one would hardly suppose  
_ _That your eye was as steady as ever;  
_ _Yet you devote more to your perfect white rose—  
_ _What made you so awfully clever?'_

 _'I have answered three questions, and that is enough,'  
_ _Said her father; 'don't confuse me as merry!  
_ _Do you think I can listen all day to such fluff?  
_ _Be off, or I'll feed you a nightlock berry!'_

"That is not said right," said the Caterpillar.

"Not _quite_ right, I'm afraid," said Prim timidly. "Some of the words have got altered."

"It is wrong from beginning to end," said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes. Eventually, the insect who resembled Claudius Templesmith even more was the first to speak. "What size do you want to be?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm not particular as to size," Prim hastily replied. "Only one doesn't like changing so often, you know."

"I _don't_ know," retorted the Caterpillar.

Prim said nothing; she had never been so much contradicted in her life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.

"Are you content now?" asked the Caterpillar.

"Well, I should like to be a _little_ larger, sir, if you wouldn't mind," said Prim. "Three inches is such a wretched height to be."

"It is a very good height indeed!" said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).

"But I'm not used to it," pleaded poor Prim in a piteous tone. And she thought of herself, _I wish the creatures wouldn't be so easily offended!_

"You'll get used to it in time," said the Caterpillar, and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.

This time, Prim waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a minute or two, the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and yawned once or twice before shaking itself. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went, "One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter."

 _One side of_ what _? The other side of_ what _?_ thought Prim to herself.

"Of the mushroom," said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked him aloud. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor," it said in Claudius Templesmith's booming manner as it slithered out of sight.

Prim remained, looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute, trying to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was perfectly round, she found this a very difficult question. However, at last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.

"And now which is which?" she said to herself, and nibbled a little of the right-hand bit to try the effect. The next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!

She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt that there was no time to be lost as she was shrinking rapidly, so she set to work at once to eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed so closely against her foot that there was hardly room to open her mouth; but she did it at last and managed to swallow a morsel of the left-hand bit.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Come, my head's free at last," said Prim in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found. All she could see when she looked down was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.

"What _can_ all that green stuff be?" said Prim to herself. "And where _have_ my shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can't see you?" She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow except a little shaking among the distant green leaves.

As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about easily in any direction—like a serpent. She had just succeeded in curving head down into a graceful zigzag and was going to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but the tops of the trees under which she had been wandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry.

A large pigeon had flown into her face and was beating her violently with its wings. "Serpent!" screamed the Pigeon.

"I'm _not_ a serpent," said Prim indignantly. "Let me alone!"

"Serpent, I say again," repeated the Pigeon but in a more subdued tone. With a kind of sob, the bird added, "I've tried every way and nothing seems to suit them."

"I haven't the least idea what you're talking about," said Prim.

"I've tried the roots of trees, and I've tried banks, and I've tried hedges," the Pigeon went on, without attending to her. "But those serpents! There's no pleasing them!"

Prim was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.

"As if it wasn't trouble enough hatching the eggs," said the Pigeon. "But I must be on the lookout for serpents night and day. Why, I haven't had a wink of sleep these three weeks."

"I'm very sorry you've been annoyed," said Prim, who was beginning to see its meaning.

"And just as I'd taken the highest tree in the wood," continued the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, "and just as I was thinking I should be free of them at last, they come wriggling down from the sky. Ugh, Serpent!"

"But I'm _not_ a serpent, I tell you," repeated Prim. "I'm a...I'm a..."

"Well, _what_ are you?" asked the Pigeon. "I can see you're trying to invent something."

"I-I'm a little girl," said Prim rather doubtfully as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through that day.

"A likely story indeed," retorted the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest contempt. "I've seen a good many little girls in my time, but never _one_ with such a neck as that. No, no. You're a serpent, and there's no use denying it. I suppose you'll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg."

"I _have_ tasted eggs, certainly," said Prim, who was a very truthful child. "But little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you know."

"I don't believe it," said the Pigeon. "But if they do, why then, they're a kind of serpent; that's all I can say."

This was such a new idea to Prim that she was quite silent for a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, "You're looking for eggs, I know _that_ well enough; and what does it matter to me whether you're a little girl or a serpent?"

"It matters a good deal to _me_ ," said Prim hastily. "But I'm not looking for eggs, as it happens. Moreover, if I was, I shouldn't want _yours_. I don't like them raw."

"Well, be off then," said the Pigeon in a sulky tone as it settled down again into its nest.

Prim crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then, she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.

It was so long since she had been anything near the right size that it felt quite strange at first, but she got used to it in a few minutes and began talking to herself as usual. "Come, there's half my plan done now. How puzzling all these changes are. I'm never sure what I'm going to be from one minute to another. However, I've got back to my right size. The next thing is...to get into that beautiful garden. How _is_ that to be done, I wonder?"

As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place with a little house in it about four feet high. _Whoever lives there_ , thought Prim, _it'll never do to come upon them this size. Why, I should frighten them out of their wits._ So she began nibbling at the right-hand bit again and did not venture to go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.


	6. Pig and Pepper

**CHAPTER VI: Pig and Pepper**

For a minute or two, Prim stood looking at the house, wondering what to do next, when suddenly a footman in a servant uniform came running out of the wood and rapped loudly at the door with his knuckles. (She considered him a footman because he was in livery; otherwise, judging by his face only, she would have called him a fish.) The door was opened by another footman in livery with a round face and large eyes like a frog; and both footmen, Prim noticed, had powdered hair that curled all over their heads. She felt very curious to know what it was all about and crept a little way out of the wood to listen.

The Fish-Footman began by producing from under his arm a great letter nearly as large as himself, and this he handed over to the other, saying in a solemn tone, "For the Duchess. An invitation from the Queen to play croquet."

The Frog-Footman repeated in the same solemn tone, only changing the order of the words a little, "From the Queen. An invitation for the Duchess to play croquet."

Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled together.

Prim laughed so much at this that she had to run back into the wood for fear of their hearing her; and when she next peeped out, the Fish-Footman was gone and the other was sitting on the ground near the door, staring stupidly up into the sky.

Prim went timidly up to the door and knocked.

"There's no sort of use in knocking," said the Footman, "and that for two reasons. First, because I'm on the same side of the door as you are; secondly, because they're making such a noise inside. No one could possibly hear you." And certainly, there was a most extraordinary noise going on within—a constant howling and sneezing, and every now and then a great crash, as if a dish or kettle had been broken to pieces.

"Please, then," said Prim, "how am I to get in?"

"There might be some sense in your knocking," the Footman went on without attending to her, "if we had the door between us. For instance, if you were _inside_ , you might knock, and I could let you out, you know." He was looking up into the sky all the time he was speaking, and this Prim thought decidedly uncivil.

 _But perhaps he can't help it_ , she thought to herself. _His eyes are so very nearly at the top of his head. But at any rate, he might answer questions._ "How am I to get in?" She repeated aloud.

"I shall sit here," the Footman remarked, "till tomorrow—"

At this moment, the door of the house opened, and a large plate came skimming out straight at the Footman's head; the dish just grazed his nose and broke to pieces against one of the trees behind him.

"—or next day, maybe," the Footman continued in the same tone exactly as if nothing had happened.

"How am I to get in?" asked Prim again in a louder tone.

" _Are_ you to get in at all?" asked the Footman. "That's the first question, you know."

It was _the question,_ no doubt, only Prim did not like to be told so. "It's really dreadful," she muttered to herself, "the way all the creatures argue. It's enough to drive one crazy."

The Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for repeating his remark with variations. "I shall sit here," he said, "on and off for days and days."

"But what am I to do?" asked Prim.

"Anything you like," replied the Footman who began to whistle.

"Oh, there's no use in talking to him," said Prim desperately. "He's perfectly idiotic." And she opened the door and went in.

The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke from one end to the other. Dressed in duchess attire, Johanna Mason was sitting on a three-legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby. Greasy Sae was leaning over the fire, stirring a large cauldron which seemed to be full of soup.

 _Who would make Johanna a duchess?_ thought Prim. _I shall be careful though, or else she'll box my ears._ She then glanced into the cauldron. "And There's certainly too much pepper in that soup," Prim said to herself as well as she could for sneezing.

There was certainly too much of it in the air. Even Duchess Johanna sneezed occasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and howling alternately without a moment's pause. The only things in the kitchen that did not sneeze were Greasy Sae and a woman surgically altered to look like a cat, who was sitting on the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.

"Please would you tell me," asked Prim a little timidly since she was not quite sure whether it was good manners for her to speak first, "why that woman grins like that?"

"She's a Cheshire cat," said Duchess Johanna, "and that's why. Pig!" Johanna said the last word with such sudden violence that Prim quite jumped

But Prim saw in another moment that it was addressed to the baby and not to her, so she took courage and went on again. "I didn't know that...Cheshire cats always grinned; in fact, I didn't know that a person could be turned into a cat."

"She's a stylist," said Duchess Johanna. "They do whatever their vivid imaginations fancy. It happens all the time."

"I don't know of any cat people," Prim said very politely, feeling quite pleased to have got into a conversation.

"You don't know much," said Duchess Johanna, "and that's a fact."

Prim did not at all like the tone of this remark and thought it would be as well to introduce some other subject of conversation.

While she was trying to fix on one, Greasy Sae took the cauldron of soup off the fire and at once set to work throwing everything within her reach at Duchess Johanna and the baby: the fire-irons came first, followed a shower of saucepans, plates, and dishes.

Duchess Johanna took no notice of them, even when they hit her; and the baby was howling so much already that it was quite impossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not.

"Oh, _please_ mind what you're doing!' cried Prim, jumping up and down in an agony of terror. When an unusually large saucepan flew close by the proboscis and very nearly carried it off, Prim said, "Oh, there goes his _precious_ nose."

"If everybody minded their own business," Duchess Johanna said in a hoarse growl, "the world would go round a deal faster than it does."

"Which would _not_ be an advantage," said Prim, who felt very glad to get an opportunity of showing off a little of her knowledge. "Just think of what work it would make with the day and night. You see the earth takes twenty-four hours to turn round on its axis—"

"Talking of axes," said Duchess Johanna, "chop off her head!"

Prim glanced rather anxiously at Greasy Sae to see if she meant to take the hint, but Greasy Sae was busily stirring the soup and seemed not to be listening, so Prim went on again. "Twenty four hours, I _think_ ; or is it twelve? I—"

"Oh, don't bother _me_ ," said Duchess Johanna. "I never could abide figures." And with that, she began nursing her child again, singing a sort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent shake at the end of every line:

"Speak roughly to your little boy,

And beat him when he sneezes:

He only does it to annoy,

Because he knows it teases."

CHORUS.

(In which Greasy Sae and the baby joined)

"Wow! wow! Wow!"

While Duchess Johanna sang the second verse of the song, she kept tossing the baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing howled so that Prim could hardly hear the words:

"I speak severely to my boy,

I beat him when he sneezes;

For he can thoroughly enjoy

The pepper when he pleases!"

CHORUS.

"Wow! wow! Wow!"

"Here, you may nurse it a bit, if you like," Duchess Johanna said to Prim, flinging the baby at her as she spoke. "I must go and get ready to play croquet with the Queen."

And as Duchess Johanna hurried out of the room, Greasy Sae threw a frying-pan after the tempered victor as she went out, but it just missed her.

Prim caught the baby with some difficulty as it was a queer-shaped little creature and held out its arms and legs in all directions. _Just like a starfish_ , thought Prim. The poor little thing was snorting like a steam-engine when she caught it and kept doubling itself up and straightening itself out again, so that altogether, for the first minute or two, it was as much as she could do to hold it.

As soon as Prim had made out the proper way of nursing it (which was to twist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold of its right ear and left foot, so as to prevent its undoing itself) she carried it out into the open air. _If I don't take this child away with me_ , thought Prim, _they're sure to kill it in a day or two._ "Wouldn't it be murder to leave it behind?" She thought those last words aloud, and the little thing grunted in reply (it had left off sneezing by this time). "Don't grunt," said Prim; "that's not at all a proper way of expressing yourself."

The baby grunted again, and Prim looked very anxiously into its face to see what was the matter with it. There could be no doubt that it had a _very_ turn-up nose, much more like a snout than a real nose; moreover, its eyes were getting extremely small for a baby. Altogether, Prim did not like the look of the thing at all. _But perhaps it was only sobbing_ , she thought before looking into its eyes again to see if there were any tears.

No, there were no tears. "If you're going to turn into a pig, my dear," said Prim seriously, "I'll have nothing more to do with you. Mind now."

The poor little thing sobbed again (or grunted, it was impossible to say which), and they went on for some while in silence.

Prim was just beginning to think to herself, _Now, what am I to do with this creature when I get it home?_ when it grunted again, so violently, that she looked down into its face in some alarm. This time there could be _no_ mistake about it: it was neither more nor less than a pig, and she felt that it would be quite absurd for her to carry it further.

So she set the little creature down and felt quite relieved to see it trot away quietly into the wood. "If it had grown up," she said to herself, "it would have made a dreadfully ugly child; however, it makes rather a handsome pig, I think." And she began thinking over other children she knew, who might do very well as pigs and was just saying to herself, "If one only knew the right way to change them—" when she was a little startled by seeing the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off.

The cat woman only grinned when she saw Prim.

 _She looks good-natured_ , thought Prim. Still, the surgically altered woman had _very_ long claws and a great many sharpened teeth, so Prim felt that she ought to be treated with respect.

"Cheshire Puss," she began rather timidly as she did not at all know whether it would like the name.

The cat woman only grinned a little wider before saying, "My name is Tigris."

 _She's pleased so far_ , thought Prim, and she went on. "Tigris, would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the cat woman.

"I don't much care where," said Prim.

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the cat woman.

"So long as I get _somewhere_ ," Prim added as an explanation.

"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the cat woman, "if you only walk long enough."

Prim felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question. "What sort of people live about here?"

"In _that_ direction," the cat woman said, waving its right paw round, "lives a ditsy Escort, and in _that_ direction," waving the other paw, "lives a zealous Stylist. Visit either you like; they're both mad."

"But I don't want to go among mad people," Prim remarked.

"Oh, you can't help that," said the cat woman. "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."

"How do you know I'm mad?" asked Prim.

"You must be," said the cat woman, "or you wouldn't have come here."

Prim didn't think that proved it at all; however, she went on, "And how do you know that you're mad?"

"To begin with," said the cat woman, "a dog's not mad. You grant that?"

"I suppose so," said Prim.

"Well, then," the cat woman went on, "you see, a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. Now I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore I'm mad."

"I call it purring, not growling," said Prim.

"Call it what you like," said cat woman. "Do you play croquet with the Queen today?"

"I should like it very much," said Prim, "but I haven't been invited yet."

"You'll see me there," said the Cheshire Cat and vanished.

Prim was not much surprised at this; she was getting so used to queer things happening. While she was looking at the place where it had been, Tigris suddenly appeared again.

"By-the-bye, what became of the baby?" asked the cat woman. "I had nearly forgotten to ask."

"It turned into a pig," Prim quietly replied just as if it had come back in a natural way.

"I thought it would," said the cat woman and vanished again.

Prim waited a little, half expecting to see cat woman again, but the woman did not appear, and after a minute or two, she walked on in the direction in which the Stylist was said to live. "I've seen escorts before," she said to herself; "a Stylist will be much the most interesting, and perhaps as this is May, he won't be raving mad—at least not so mad as he may be in winter with all those drab colors." As Prim said this, she looked up, and there was the cat woman again, sitting on a branch of a tree.

"Did you say pig, or fig?" asked cat woman.

"I said pig," replied Prim. "And Tigris, I wish you wouldn't keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly; you make one quite giddy."

"All right," said the cat woman, and this time, the Cheshire Cat vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.

 _Well, I've often seen a cat without a grin,_ thought Prim; _but a grin without a cat, it's the most curious thing I ever saw in my life._

She had not gone much farther before she came in sight of the house of the Stylist. She thought it must be the right house, because the chimneys were designed like bolts of checkerboard fabric and the roof was thatched with stained paintbrushes. It was so large a house that she did not like to go nearer till she had nibbled some more of the left-hand bit of mushroom and raised herself to about two feet high; even then, she walked up towards it rather timidly, saying to herself "Suppose this person should be raving mad after all. I almost wish I'd gone to see the Escort instead."


	7. A Mad Tea-Party

**CHAPTER VII: A Mad Tea-Party**

There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and a simply dressed man with close-cropped hair and colorful woman wearing a flamboyant red wig were having tea at it. An older, scruffier man was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using him as a cushion, resting their elbows upon him, and talking over his head. As Prim neared, she recognized the Escort.

 _Why, I shouldn't be surprised,_ thought Prim; _Effie certainly is ditsy—and that's being kind when people say that._ When she tried to identify the two men, she failed to place either of them. _Very uncomfortable for the sleeping man though, only, as he's asleep, I suppose he doesn't mind._

The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it. "No room! No room!" the conscious two cried out when they saw Prim coming.

"There's _plenty_ of room," said Prim indignantly, and she sat down in a large armchair at one end of the table.

"Have some wine," the Stylist said in an encouraging tone.

Prim looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. "I don't see any wine," she remarked.

"There isn't any," said the Stylist.

"Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it," said Prim angrily. As she began to sulk, she thought it quite inappropriate to offer a child wine in the first place.

"It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited," said the Stylist.

"I didn't know it was _your_ table," said Prim. "It's laid for a great many more than three."

When the attractive man faintly smiled, Prim recognized the Stylist from television. "You're Cinna, my sister's stylist. Katniss said you were gentle and kind."

The sharply dressed man calmly sipped his tea and shrugged. "It doesn't mean that I don't like a bit of fun from time to time."

"Your hair wants cutting," said Effie. "You should let Cinna cut it." She had been looking at Prim for some time with great curiosity, and this was her first speech.

"You should learn not to make personal remarks," Prim said with some severity. "It's very rude."

Effie opened her eyes very wide on hearing this; but all she _said_ was, "Why is a mockingjay like a mahogany writing-desk?"

 _Come, we shall have some fun now,_ thought Prim. _I'm glad they've begun asking riddles._ "I believe I can guess that," she added aloud.

"Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?" asked Cinna.

"Exactly so," said Prim.

"Then you should say what you mean," Cinna went on.

"I do," Prim hastily replied; "at least...at least I mean what I say...that's the same thing, you know."

"Not the same thing a bit." said Effie. "You might just as well say that 'I see what I eat' is the same thing as 'I eat what I see'."

"You might just as well say," added Cinna, "that 'I like what I get' is the same thing as 'I get what I like'."

"You might just as well say," added scruffy man, who seemed to be talking in his sleep, "that 'I breathe when I drink' is the same thing as 'I drink when I breathe'."

When the man's breath soured Prim's face, she recognized him straight away as Haymitch Abernathy just from his smell.

"It _is_ the same thing with you," said Effie. "When are you ever sober," and here the conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute while Prim thought over all she could remember about mockingjays and mahogany writing-desks, which wasn't much.

Effie was the first to break the silence. "What day of the month is it?" she asked, turning to Prim. She had taken her watch out of her pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then, and holding it to her ear.

Prim considered a little, and then said, "The fourth."

"Two days wrong," sighed Effie. "I told you butter wouldn't suit the works," she added looking angrily at Cinna.

"It was the _best_ butter," Cinna meekly replied.

"Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well," Effie grumbled. "You shouldn't have put it in with the bread-knife."

Cinna took the watch and looked at it gloomily; then he dipped it into his cup of tea and looked at it again, but he could think of nothing better to say than his first remark, "It was the _best_ butter, you know."

Prim had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. "What a funny watch," she remarked. "It tells the day of the month and doesn't tell what o'clock it is?"

"Why should it?" muttered Effie. "Does _your_ watch tell you what year it is?"

"Of course not," Prim replied very readily, "but that's because it stays the same year for such a long time together."

"Which is just the case with _mine_ ," said Effie.

Prim felt dreadfully puzzled for Effie's remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. "I don't quite understand you," Prim said, as politely as she could.

"Haymitch has passed out again," said Effie, and she poured a little hot tea upon his nose.

The drunkard shook his head impatiently, and said without opening his eyes, "Of course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself."

"Have you guessed the riddle yet?" Effie asked, turning to Prim again.

"No, I give it up," Prim replied. "What's the answer?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," said Effie.

"Nor I," said Cinna.

Prim sighed wearily. "I think you might do something better with the time," she said, "than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers."

"If you knew Time as well as I do," said Effie, "you wouldn't talk about wasting _it_. It's _him_."

"I don't know what you mean," said Prim.

"Of course you don't," Effie said, tossing her head contemptuously. "I dare say you never even spoke to Time."

"Perhaps not," Prim cautiously replied, "but I know I have to beat time when I learn music."

"Ah, that accounts for it," said Effie. "He won't stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he'd do almost anything you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it were nine o'clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons, you'd only have to whisper a hint to Time and round goes the clock in a twinkling: half-past one, time for dinner."

("I only wish it was," Cinna said to itself in a whisper.)

"That would be grand, certainly," said Prim thoughtfully, "but then...I shouldn't be hungry for it, you know."

"Not at first, perhaps," said Effie, "but you could keep it to half-past one as long as you liked."

"Is that the way _you_ manage?" Prim asked.

Effie shook her head mournfully. "Not I," she replied. "We quarrelled last March—just before _he_ went mad, you know—" (pointing with his tea spoon at Cinna) "—it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing:

'Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!

How I wonder what you're at!'

You know the song, perhaps?"

"I've heard something like it," said Prim.

"It goes on, you know," Effie continued, "in this way:

'Up above the world you fly,

Like a tea-tray in the sky.

Twinkle, twinkle—'"

Here Haymitch turned his head to the side, and began singing in its sleep "Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle..." and went on so long that they had to pinch him to make him stop.

"Well, I'd hardly finished the first verse," said Effie, "when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, 'He's murdering the time! Off with her head!'"

"How dreadfully savage," exclaimed Prim.

"And ever since that," Effie went on in a mournful tone, "he won't do a thing I ask. It's always six o'clock now."

A bright idea came into Prim's head. "Is that the reason so many tea-things are put out here?" she asked.

"Yes, that's it," said Effie with a sigh. "It's always tea-time, and we've no time to wash the things between whiles."

"Then you keep moving round, I suppose?" said Prim.

"Exactly so," said Effie, "as the things get used up."

"But what happens when you come to the beginning again?" Prim ventured to ask.

"Suppose we change the subject," Cinna interrupted, yawning. "I'm getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story."

"I'm afraid I don't know one," said Prim, rather alarmed at the proposal.

"Then Haymitch shall!" they both cried. "Wake up, Haymitch!" And they pinched the man on both sides at once.

The drunkard slowly opened his eyes. "I wasn't asleep," he said in a hoarse, feeble voice. "I heard every word you two were saying."

"Tell us a story," said Cinna.

"Yes, please do," pleaded Prim.

"And be quick about it," added Effie, "or you'll be passed out again before it's done."

"Once upon a time there were three little sisters," Haymitch began in a great hurry, "and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie, and they lived at the bottom of a well—"

"What did they live on?" asked Prim, who always took a great interest in questions of eating and drinking.

"They lived on treacle," said the Haymitch after thinking a minute or two.

"They couldn't have done that, you know," Prim gently remarked, "they'd have been ill."

"So they were," said Haymitch, " _very_ ill."

Prim tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on, "But why did they live at the bottom of a well?"

"Take some more tea," Cinna said to Prim, very earnestly.

"I've had nothing yet," Prim replied in an offended tone, "so I can't take more."

"You mean you can't take _less_ ," said Effie. "It's very easy to take _more_ than nothing."

"Nobody asked _your_ opinion," said Prim.

"Who's making personal remarks now?" Effie asked triumphantly.

Prim did not quite know what to say to this, so she helped herself to some tea and bread-and-butter and then turned to Haymitch and repeated her question. "Why did they live at the bottom of a well?"

Haymitch again took a minute or two to think about it, and then said, "It was a treacle-well."

"There's no such thing." Prim was beginning very angrily, but Effie and Cinna went "Sh! sh!" and Haymitch sulkily remarked, "If you can't be civil, you'd better finish the story for yourself."

"No, please go on," Prim said very humbly. "I won't interrupt again. I dare say there may be _one_."

"One, indeed," said Haymitch indignantly; however, he consented to go on. "And so these three little sisters; they were learning to draw, you know—"

"What did they draw?" asked Prim, quite forgetting her promise.

"Treacle," said the drunkard without considering at all this time.

"I want a clean cup," interrupted Effie. "Let's all move one place on."

She moved on as she spoke, and Haymitch followed her. Cinna moved into Haymitch's place, and Prim rather unwillingly took the place of Cinna. Effie was the only one who got any advantage from the change, and Prim was a good deal worse off than before as Cinna had just upset the milk-jug into his plate.

Prim did not wish to offend Haymitch again, so she began very cautiously, "But I don't understand. Where did they draw the treacle from?"

"You can draw water out of a water-well," said Effie; "so I should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well, eh, stupid?"

"But they were _in_ the well, Prim said to Haymitch, not choosing to notice Effie's last remark.

"Of course they were," said Haymitch. "Well in."

This answer so confused poor Prim that she let Haymitch go on for some time without interrupting him.

"They were learning to draw," Haymitch went on, yawning and rubbing his eyes for he was very drunk, "and they drew all manner of things...everything that begins with an M—"

"Why with an M?" asked Prim.

"Why not?" retorted Cinna.

Prim was silent.

Haymitch had closed his eyes by this time and was going off into a doze. but on being pinched by Effie, he woke up again with some annoyance and went on, "That begins with an M, such as mockingjays, and the moon, and memory, and muchness; you know you say things are 'much of a muchness'—did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness?"

"Really, now you ask me," said Prim very much confused, "I don't think—"

"Then you shouldn't talk," interrupted Effie.

This piece of rudeness was more than Prim could bear. She got up in great disgust and walked off. Haymitch passed out instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of her going—though she looked back once or twice, half hoping that they would call after her. The last time she saw them, they were trying to pour tea into Haymitch's mouth.

"At any rate I'll never go _there_ again," said Prim as she picked her way through the wood. "It's the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all my life."

Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a door leading right into it. _That's very curious_ , she thought. _But everything's curious today. I think I may as well go in at once._ And in she went.

Once more she found herself in the long hall and close to the little glass table. "Now, I'll manage better this time," she said to herself and began by taking the little golden key and unlocking the door that led into the garden. Then she went to work nibbling at the mushroom (she had kept a piece of it in her pocket) till she was about a foot high. Then she walked down the little passage, and _then_ she found herself at last in the beautiful garden among the bright flowerbeds and the cool fountains.


	8. The Queen's Croquet-Ground

**CHAPTER VIII: The Queen's Croquet-Ground**

A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden. The roses growing on it were white, but there were three people at it, dressed inappropriately and busily painting the flowers red. Prim thought this a very curious thing and went nearer to watch them, and just as she came close, the little girl recognized them to be her sister's prep team.

Venia took a step back to look at her outfit and said, "Look out now, Flavius! Don't go splashing paint over me like that. You know red is not my colour."

"I couldn't help it,' said Flavius, in a sulky tone. "Octavia jogged my elbow."

On which Octavia looked up and said, "That's right, Flavius! Always lay the blame on others."

" _You'd_ better not talk," said Flavius. "I heard the Queen say only yesterday that you deserved to be beheaded."

"What for?" asked Venia.

"That's none of _your_ business, Venia," said Octavia.

"Yes, it _is_ her business!' said Flavius, "and I'll tell her: it was for bringing Greasy Sae tulip-roots instead of onions."

Octavia flung down her brush and had just begun "Well, of all the unjust things—" when her eyes chanced to fall upon Prim as she stood watching them. The woman checked herself suddenly, the others looked round also, and all of them bowed low.

"Would you tell me," asked Prim, a little timidly, "why you are painting those roses?"

Flavius and Octavia said nothing, but looked to Venia.

Venia began in a low voice, "Why the fact is, you see, miss, this here ought to have been a _red_ rose-tree, and we put a white one in by mistake; and if the Queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off, you know, because white roses remind her of her enemy. So you see, Miss, we're doing our best, before she comes to—"

At this moment Flavius, who had been anxiously looking across the garden, called out "The Queen! The Queen!" and the prep team instantly threw themselves flat upon their faces.

There was a sound of many footsteps, and Prim looked round eager to see the Queen. First came ten soldiers carrying clubs; their bodies were all shaped like oblong and flat with their hands and feet at the corners. Next, the ten courtiers, these were ornamented all over with diamonds and walked two and two as the soldiers did. After these came the royal children; there were ten of them, and the little dears came jumping merrily along hand in hand in couples; they were all ornamented with hearts. Next came the guests, mostly Kings and Queens, and among them Prim recognised Beetee; he was talking in a hurried nervous manner, smiling at everything that was said and went by without noticing her. Then followed a displeased Katniss carrying the Queen's crown on a crimson velvet cushion; and, concluding this grand procession, came _the King and Queen of Hearts_.

Prim was rather doubtful whether she ought not to lie down on her face like the prep team, but she could not remember ever having heard of such a rule at processions. _And besides, what would be the use of a procession_ , thought she, _if people had all to lie down upon their faces so that they couldn't see it?_ So she stood still where she was and waited.

When the procession came opposite to Prim, they all stopped and looked at her, and as they continued to stare at her with a look of perplexity, Prim finally realized who had stopped before her. "Well," began Prim, "Head Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee a king? More like kingmaker." And when prim turned to the Queen, she snickered at absurdity before her. "President Coin. Fancy you being an actual queen. No wonder people call you a _despot_ behind your back?"

The Queen said severely, "Who is this?" She had posed the question to Katniss, who only bowed and smiled in reply, not wanting to betray her little sister.

"Idiot, Mockingjay," said the Queen, tossing her head impatiently. And turning to Prim, she went on, "What's your name, child?"

"My name is Prim, so please _your Majesty_ ," said Prim very politely, for she decide to play along with the president's ruse; but she added, to herself, _Why, they're only a pack of cards, one dimensional at most. After all. I needn't be afraid of them._

"And who are _these_?" asked the Queen, pointing to the prep team who were lying round the rose tree; for, you see, as they were lying on their faces and their clothing matched nothing typically seen in District 13, she could not tell whether they were gardeners, or soldiers, or courtiers, or three of her own entourage.

"How should I know?" replied Prim, surprised at her own courage. "It's no business of _mine_."

The Queen turned crimson with fury, and after glaring at her for a moment like a wild beast, screamed "Off with her head! Off—"

"Nonsense!" interrupted Prim very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen was silent. "You are not a Queen; you are an elected President."

Plutarch laid his hand upon Coin's arm, and timidly said "Consider, Madam President...your Majesty, she is only a child."

Behaving more like a Queen, Coin turned angrily away from him, and said to the Katniss, "Turn those three over. I want to see their faces."

Katniss did so, very carefully aiding each upright onto their knees.

"Get up!" said the Queen, in a shrill, loud voice, and the prep team instantly jumped up, and began bowing to the Queen, the royal children, and everybody else.

"Leave off that!" screamed the Queen. "You make me giddy." And then, turning to the rose tree, she went on, "What _have_ you been doing here?"

"May it please your Majesty," said Venia, in a very humble tone, going down on one knee as she spoke, "we were trying—"

"I see!" said the Queen who had meanwhile been examining the roses. "Off with their heads!"

And the procession moved on with three of the soldiers remaining behind to execute the unfortunate prep team, who ran to Prim for protection.

"You shan't be beheaded," said Prim, putting them into a large flowerpot that stood near. The three soldiers wandered about for a minute or two, looking for them, and then quietly marched off after the others.

"Are their heads off?" shouted the Queen.

"Their heads are gone if it please your Majesty!" the soldiers shouted in reply.

"That's right!" shouted the Queen. "Can you play croquet?"

The soldiers were silent and looked at Prim as the question was evidently meant for her.

"Yes!" shouted Prim.

"Come on, then!" roared the Queen.

And Prim joined the procession, wondering very much what would happen next.

"It's...it's a very fine day," said a timid voice at her side.

Prim found herself walking beside Beetee, who was peeping anxiously into her face. "Very," said Prim. "Where's Duchess Johanna?"

"Hush. Hush." said Beetee in a low, hurried tone. He looked anxiously over his shoulder as he spoke, and then leaned over to put his mouth close to her ear and whispered, "She's under sentence of execution."

"What for?" asked Prim.

"Did you say 'What a pity'?" Beetee asked.

"No, I didn't," replied Prim. "I don't think it's at all a pity. I asked 'What for'?"

"She boxed the Queen's ears—" Beetee began when Prim gave a little scream of laughter. "Oh, hush!" Beetee whispered in a frightened tone. "The Queen will hear you. You see, she came rather late, and the Queen said—"

"Get to your places!" shouted the Queen in a voice of thunder, and people began running about in all directions, tumbling up against each other; however, they got settled down in a minute or two, and the game began.

Prim thought she had never seen such a curious croquet-ground in her life; it was all ridges and furrows. The balls were live hedgehogs, the mallets live flamingos, and the soldiers had to double themselves up and to stand on their hands and feet to make the arches.

The chief difficulty Prim found at first was in managing her candy pink flamingo. She succeeded in getting its body tucked away comfortably enough under her arm with its legs hanging down. But generally, just as she had got its neck nicely straightened out and was going to give the hedgehog a blow with its head, it _would_ twist itself round and look up in her face with such a puzzled expression that she could not help bursting out laughing. And when she had got its head down and was going to begin again, it was very provoking to find that the hedgehog had unrolled itself and was in the act of crawling away. Besides all this, there was generally a ridge or furrow in the way wherever she wanted to send the hedgehog to, and as the doubled-up soldiers were always getting up and walking off to other parts of the ground, Prim soon came to the conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed.

The players all played at once without waiting for turns, quarrelling all the while and fighting for the hedgehogs; and in a very short time, the Queen was in a furious passion and went stamping about, shouting "Off with his head!" or "Off with her head!" about once every minute.

Prim began to feel very uneasy. To be sure, she had not as yet had any dispute with the Queen, but she knew that it might happen any minute. _And then_ , thought Prim, _what would become of me? They're dreadfully fond of beheading people here; the great wonder is that there's any one left alive!_

She was looking about for some way of escape and wondering whether she could get away without being seen when she noticed a curious appearance in the air. It puzzled her very much at first, but after watching it a minute or two, she made it out to be a grin, and she said to herself, "It's the Cheshire Cat. Now I shall have somebody to talk to."

"How are you getting on?" said the cat woman, as soon as there was mouth enough for her to speak with.

Prim waited till the eyes appeared, and then nodded. _It's no use speaking to it_ , she thought, _till its ears have come, or at least one of them_. In another minute, the whole head appeared, and then Prim put down her candy pink flamingo and began an account of the game, feeling very glad she had someone to listen to her. The cat woman seemed to think that there was enough of her now in sight so no more of her appeared.

"Oh, Tigris, I don't think they play at all fairly," Prim began, in rather a complaining tone. "And they all quarrel so dreadfully one can't hear oneself speak; and they don't seem to have any rules in particular; at least, if there are, nobody attends to them. And you've no idea how confusing it is all the things being alive; for instance, there's the arch I've got to go through next, walking about at the other end of the ground. And I should have croqueted the Queen's hedgehog just now, only it ran away when it saw mine coming."

"How do you like the Queen?' asked the cat woman in a low voice.

"Not at all," said Prim. "Coin is so extremely—" Just then she noticed that the Queen was close behind her, listening, so she went on, "likely to win, that it's hardly worth while finishing the game."

The Queen smiled and passed on.

"Who _are_ you talking to?" asked Plutarch, going up to Prim and looking at the cat woman's head with great curiosity.

"It's a friend of mine, a Cheshire Cat," said Prim. "Allow me to introduce her."

"I don't like the look of it at all," said Plutarch. "However, it may kiss my hand if it likes."

"I'd rather not," Tigris remarked.

"Don't be impertinent," said Plutarch, "and don't look at me like that." The man moved behind Prim as he spoke.

"She's no harm," said Prim. "She's just a bit... _different_."

"Well, it must be removed," said Plutarch very decidedly, and he called President Coin, who was passing at the moment, "Your Majesty, I wish you would have this cat removed."

The Queen had only one way of settling all difficulties, great or small. "Off with her head!" she said without even looking round.

"I'll fetch the executioner myself," said Plutarch eagerly, and he hurried off.

Prim thought she might as well go back and see how the game was going on as she heard the Queen's voice in the distance, screaming with passion. Prim had already heard her sentence three of the players to be executed for having missed their turns, and she did not like the look of things at all as the game was in such confusion that she never knew whether it was her turn or not. So she went in search of her hedgehog.

The hedgehog was engaged in a fight with another hedgehog, which seemed to Prim an excellent opportunity for croqueting one of them with the other. The only difficulty was that her candy pink flamingo was gone across to the other side of the garden where Prim could see it trying, in a helpless sort of way, to fly up into a tree. By the time she had caught the flamingo and brought it back, the fight was over, and both the hedgehogs were out of sight.

 _But it doesn't matter much_ , thought Prim, _as all the arches are gone from this side of the ground._ So she tucked the bird away under her arm that it might not escape again and went back for a little more conversation with her friend.

When she got back to the Cheshire Cat, she was surprised to find quite a large crowd collected round Tigris. There was a dispute going on between the executioner, Plutarch, and the Queen, who were all talking at once while all the rest were quite silent and looked very uncomfortable.

The moment Prim appeared, she was appealed to by all three to settle the question, and they repeated their arguments to her. Though, as they all spoke at once, she found it very hard indeed to make out exactly what they said.

The executioner's argument was that you couldn't cut off a head unless there was a body to cut it off from, that he had never had to do such a thing before, and he wasn't going to begin at _his_ time of life.

Plutarch's argument was that anything that had a head could be beheaded and that you weren't to talk nonsense.

The Queen's argument was that if something wasn't done about it in less than no time she'd have everybody executed all round. (It was this last remark that had made the whole party look so grave and anxious.)

Prim could think of nothing else to say but, "The cat belongs to Duchess Johanna. You'd better ask _her_ about it."

"She's in prison," the Queen said to the executioner. "Fetch her here."

And the executioner went off like an arrow.

The cat woman's head began fading away the moment he was gone, and by the time he had come back with Duchess Johanna, Tigris had entirely disappeared. So Plutarch and the executioner ran wildly up and down looking for her while the rest of the party went back to the game.


	9. The Merman's Story

**CHAPTER IX: The Merman's Story**

"You can't think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing," said Duchess Johanna as she tucked her arm affectionately into Prim's, and they walked off together.

Prim was very glad to find her in such a pleasant temper and thought to herself that perhaps it was only the pepper that had made her so savage when they met in the kitchen.

"When _I'm_ a Duchess," she said to herself, (not in a very hopeful tone though), "I won't have any pepper in my kitchen _at all_. Soup does very well without. Maybe it's always pepper that makes people hot-tempered," she went on, very much pleased at having found out a new kind of rule. _And vinegar that makes them sour, and camomile that makes them bitter, and…and barley-sugar and such things that make children sweet-tempered. I only wish people knew that. Then they wouldn't be so stingy about it, you know—_

She had quite forgotten the Duchess by this time and was a little startled when she heard Johanna's voice close to her ear. "You're thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk. I can't tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit."

"Perhaps it hasn't one," Prim ventured to remark.

"Tut, tut, child," said Duchess Johanna. "Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it." And she squeezed herself up closer to Prim's side as she spoke.

Prim did not much like keeping so close to her: first, because Johanna was _very_ strong, and secondly, because she had taken to skipping her baths. And though Prim could feel Johanna's nails digging into her shoulder, Prim did not like to be rude, so she bore it as well as she could. "The game's going on rather better now," she said by way of keeping up the conversation a little.

"'Tis so," said Duchess Johanna, "and the moral of that is, 'Oh, 'tis love, 'tis love, that makes the world go round.'"

"Somebody said," Prim whispered, "that it's done by everybody minding their own business."

"Ah, well. It means much the same thing," said Duchess Johanna, digging her sharp nails deeper into Prim's shoulder as she added, "and the moral of _that_ is, 'Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves.'"

 _How fond she is of finding morals in things_ , Prim thought to herself.

"I dare say you're wondering why I don't put my arm round your waist," Johanna said after a pause. "The reason is that I'm doubtful about the temper of your flamingo. Shall I try the experiment?"

" _He_ might bite," Prim cautiously replied, not feeling at all anxious to have the experiment tried.

"Very true," said Duchess Johanna. "Flamingos and mustard both bite. And the moral of that is, 'Birds of a feather flock together.'"

"Only mustard isn't a bird," Prim remarked.

"Right, as usual," said the Duchess. "What a clear way you have of putting things."

"It's a mineral, I _think_ ," added Prim.

"Of course it is," said the Duchess, who seemed ready to agree to everything that Prim said. "There's a large mustard-mine near here. And the moral of that is, 'The more there is of mine, the less there is of yours.'"

"Oh, I know," exclaimed Prim, who had not attended to this last remark. "It's a vegetable. It doesn't look like one, but it is."

"I quite agree with you," said the Duchess, "and the moral of that is, 'Be what you would seem to be' or if you'd like it put more simply, 'Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.'"

"I think I should understand that better," Prim said very politely, "if I had it written down, for I can't quite follow it as you say it."

"That's nothing to what I could say if I chose," Duchess Johanna replied, in a pleased tone.

"Pray don't trouble yourself to say it any longer than that," said Prim.

"Oh, don't talk about trouble," said Duchess Johanna. "I make you a present of everything I've said as yet."

 _A cheap sort of present!_ thought Prim. _I'm glad they don't give birthday presents like that!_ However, she did not venture to say this out loud.

"Thinking again?" Duchess Johanna asked with another dig of her sharp fingernails.

"I've a right to think," said Prim sharply, for she was beginning to feel a little worried.

"Just about as much right," said Johanna, "as pigs have to fly, and the m—"

But here, to Prim's great surprise, Johanna's voice died away, even in the middle of her favourite word 'moral', and the hand that rested on her shoulder began to tremble. Prim looked up, and there stood the Queen in front of them with her arms folded, frowning like a thunderstorm.

"A fine day, your Majesty," Duchess Johanna began in a low, weak voice.

"Now, I give you fair warning," shouted the Queen, stamping on the ground as she spoke; "either you or your head must be off, and that in about half no time! Take your choice!"

Duchess Johanna took her choice and was gone in a moment.

"Let's go on with the game," the Queen said to Prim, who was too much frightened to say a word, so she slowly followed Coin back to the croquet-ground.

The other guests had taken advantage of the Queen's absence, and were resting in the shade; however, the moment they saw her, they hurried back to the game; the Queen merely remarking that a moment's delay would cost them their lives.

All the time they were playing, the Queen never left off quarrelling with the other players and shouting "Off with his head!" or "Off with her head!". Those whom she sentenced were taken into custody by the soldiers, who of course had to leave off being arches to do this. So that by the end of half an hour or so, there were no arches left, and all the players, except Plutarch, the Queen, and Prim were in custody and under sentence of execution.

Then the Queen left off, quite out of breath, and said to Prim, "Have you seen my Merman yet?"

"No," replied Prim. "I didn't even know that Mermen existed."

"Of course they do. We wouldn't have baby mermen and mermaids if they didn't," said the Queen.

"I never saw one, or heard of one actually existing," said Prim.

"Come on, then," said the Queen, "and he shall tell you his history."

As they walked off together, Prim heard Plutarch say in a low voice to the company generally, "You are all pardoned."

"Come, _that's_ a good thing," Prim said to herself, for she had felt quite unhappy at the number of executions that Coin had ordered.

They very soon came upon a Gryphon lying fast asleep in the sun.

"Up, lazy thing!' said the Queen, "and take this young lady to see the Merman, and to hear his history. I must go back and see after some executions I have ordered." And she walked off, leaving Prim alone with the Gryphon.

Prim did not quite like the look of the half lion, half eagle creature, but on the whole, she thought it would be quite as safe to stay with it as to go after that savage Queen, so she waited.

The Gryphon sat up, stretched its wings, and rubbed its eyes with its paw; then it watched the Queen till she was out of sight. Then it chuckled. "What fun," said the Gryphon happily, half to itself, half to Prim.

"What _is_ the fun?" asked Prim.

"Why, _Coin_ ," said the Gryphon. "It's all her fancy, that; thinking she's some kind of monarch. They never executes nobody, you know. Come on."

 _Everybody says 'come on' here_ , thought Prim as she went slowly after it. _I never was so ordered about in all my life, never._

They had not gone far before they saw the Merman in the distance, lying in the sand at the edge of a cove, appearing sad and lonely. His tail glistened green and blue in the sunlight.

As they came nearer, Prim could hear him sighing as if his heart would break. She pitied him deeply. "What is his sorrow?" she asked the Gryphon.

The Gryphon answered very nearly in the same words as before, "It's all his fancy, that; he hasn't got no sorrow, you know. He gets moody when he runs out of sugar. Now, come on."

So they went up to the Merman, who looked at them with large eyes full of tears, but said nothing until Prim gasped, "Finnick! You never told me that you were a Merman."

"Well, you never asked," replied Finnick. "I cannot tell you what you want to know if you don't ask."

Prim stared at the Merman, observing how the gentle waves lapped at his tail. "One would think someone would have noticed your tail before now."

"Ah. Well, I need saltwater in order to change back into my natural self." Merman Finnick stared out past the cove and sighed. "The Atlantic Ocean will have to do until I get home."

"This here young lady," said the Gryphon, "she wants for to know your history, she do."

"I'll tell it her," said the Merman in a deep, hollow tone. "Sit down, both of you, and don't speak a word till I've finished."

So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Prim thought to herself, _I don't see how he can 'even' finish, if he doesn't begin_. But she waited patiently.

"Once," said the Merman at last, with a deep sigh, "I was a wee merman."

These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional exclamation of 'Hjckrrh!' from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing of the Merman. Prim was very nearly getting up and saying, "Thank you, Finnick, for your interesting story," but she could not help thinking there _must_ be more to come, so she sat still and said nothing.

"When we were little, in District Four," the Merman went on at last, more calmly, though still sobbing a little now and then, "we went to school in the sea. The master was an old Fisherman; we used to call him Tortoise—"

"Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn't one?" Prim asked.

"We called him Tortoise because he taught us," said Merman Finnick angrily. "Really you are very dull."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple question," added the Gryphon, and then they both sat silent and looked at poor Prim, who felt ready to sink into the earth. At last the Gryphon said to the Merman, "Drive on, old fellow. Don't be all day about it."

And the Merman went on in these words, "Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn't believe it—"

"I never said I didn't," interrupted Prim.

"You did," said the Merman.

"Hold your tongue!" added the Gryphon, before Prim could speak again.

The Merman went on, "We had the best of educations, in fact, we went to school every day—"

" _I've_ been to a day-school, too," said Prim. "You needn't be so proud as all that."

"With extras?" asked the Merman a little anxiously.

"Yes," replied Prim, "We learned about coal and music."

"And washing?" asked the Merman.

"Certainly not," said Prim indignantly.

"Ah! Then yours wasn't a really good school," said Merman Finnick in a tone of great relief. "Now at _ours_ they had at the end of the bill, 'Fishing, music, _and washing_ —extra.'"

"You couldn't have wanted it much," said Prim, "living at the bottom of the sea."

"I couldn't afford to learn it," said the Merman with a sigh. "I only took the regular course."

"What was that?" inquired Prim.

"Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with," the Merman replied; "and then the different branches of Arithmetic: Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision."

"I never heard of 'Uglification'," Prim ventured to say. "What is it?"

The Gryphon lifted up both its paws in surprise. "What? Never heard of uglifying," it exclaimed. "You know what to beautify is, I suppose?"

"Yes," said Prim doubtfully. "It means, to make anything prettier."

"Well, then," the Gryphon went on, "if you don't know what to uglify is, you _are_ a simpleton."

Prim did not feel encouraged to ask any more questions about it, so she turned to the Merman, and asked, "Finnick, what else had you to learn?"

"Well, there was Mystery," the Merman replied, counting off the subjects on his fingers, "Mystery, ancient and modern, with Seaography; then Drawling, the Drawling-master was an old conger-eel that used to come once a week. _He_ taught us Drawling, Stretching, and Fainting in Coils."

"What was _that_ like?" asked Prim.

"Well, I can't show it you myself," the Merman said. "I'm too stiff. And the Gryphon never learnt it."

"Hadn't time," said the Gryphon. "I went to the Classics master, though. He was an old crab, _he_ was."

"I never went to him," the Merman said with a sigh; "he taught Laughing and Grief, they used to say."

"So he did, so he did," said the Gryphon, sighing in his turn; and both creatures bowed their heads.

"And how many hours a day did you do lessons?" asked Prim in a hurry to change the subject.

"Ten hours the first day," said the Merman, "nine the next, and so on."

"What a curious plan,"' exclaimed Prim. "School is so much different in District Four."

"That's the reason they're called lessons," the Gryphon remarked, "because they lessen from day to day."

This was quite a new idea to Prim, and she thought it over a little before she made her next remark. "Then the eleventh day must have been a holiday?"

"Of course it was," said the Merman.

"And how did you manage on the twelfth?" Prim went on eagerly.

"That's enough about lessons," the Gryphon interrupted in a very decided tone. "Tell her something about the Games now."


	10. The Lobster Quadrille

**CHAPTER X: The Lobster Quadrille**

Merman Finnick sighed deeply and drew the back of one arm across his eyes. He looked at Prim and tried to speak, but for a minute or two, sobs choked his voice.

"Same as if he had a bone in his throat," said the Gryphon, and the creature set to work shaking Finnick and slapping him on the back.

At last, the Merman recovered his voice and with tears running down his cheeks, he went on again, "You may not have lived much under the sea—"

"I haven't," injected Prim.

"And perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster?"

Prim began to say, "I once tasted—" but checked herself hastily and said, "No, never"

"So you can have no idea what a delightful thing a Lobster Quadrille is."

"No, indeed," said Prim. "What sort of a dance is it?"

"Why," said the Gryphon, "you first form into a line along the sea-shore—"

"Two lines!' cried the Merman. "Seals, turtles, salmon, and so on. Then, when you've cleared all the jelly-fish out of the way—"

" _That_ generally takes some time," interrupted the Gryphon.

"You advance twice—"

"Each with a lobster as a partner!" cried the Gryphon.

"Of course," the Merman said, "advance twice, set to partners—"

"Change lobsters, and retire in same order," continued the Gryphon.

"Then, you know," the Merman went on, "you throw the—"

"The lobsters!" shouted the Gryphon bounding into the air.

"As far out to sea as you can—"

"Swim after them!" screamed the Gryphon.

"Turn a somersault in the sea!" cried Finnick flapping his tail wildly about.

"Change lobsters again!" yelled the Gryphon at the top of its voice.

"Back to land again, and that's all the first figure," said the Merman suddenly dropping his voice, and the two creatures who had been jumping about like mad things all this time, settled down again very sadly and quietly, and looked at Prim.

"It must be a very pretty dance," said Prim timidly.

"Would you like to see a little of it?" asked the Merman.

"Very much indeed," replied Prim.

"Come, let's try the first figure!" said the Merman to the Gryphon. "We can do without lobsters, you know. Which of us shall sing?"

"Oh, _you_ sing," said the Gryphon. "I've forgotten the words. I'll dance since I have legs and all."

So the Gryphon began solemnly dancing round and round Prim, every now and then treading on her toes when he passed too close, and waving his forepaws to mark the time while the Merman sang this, very slowly and sadly:

'Will you walk a little faster?' said a whiting to a snail.

'There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.

See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!

They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance?

Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?

Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?

'You can really have no notion how delightful it will be

When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!'

But the snail replied 'Too far, too far!' and gave a look askance—

Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance.

Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance.

Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.

'What matters it how far we go?' his scaly friend replied.

'There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.

The further off from England the nearer is to France—

Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.

Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?

Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?'

"Thank you, Finnick, it's a very interesting dance to watch," said Prim, feeling very glad that it was over at last, "and I do so like that curious song about the whiting."

"Oh, as to the whiting," said the Merman, "they—you've seen them, of course?"

"Yes," replied Prim. "I've often seen them at dinn—" she checked herself hastily.

"I don't know where Dinn may be," said the Merman, "but if you've seen them so often, of course you know what they're like."

"I believe so," Prim replied thoughtfully. "They have their tails in their mouths, and they're all over crumbs."

"You're wrong about the crumbs," said the Merman; "crumbs would all wash off in the sea. But they _have_ their tails in their mouths, and the reason is—" here, Finnick yawned and shut his eyes. "Tell her about the reason and all that," he said to the Gryphon.

"The reason is," said the Gryphon, "that they _would_ go with the lobsters to the dance. So they got thrown out to sea. So they had to fall a long way. So they got their tails fast in their mouths. So they couldn't get them out again. That's all."

"Thank you," said Prim. "It's very interesting. I never knew so much about a whiting before."

"I can tell you more than that, if you like," said the Gryphon. "Do you know why it's called a whiting?"

"I never thought about it," said Prim. "Why?"

" _It does the boots and shoes,_ " the Gryphon replied very solemnly.

Prim was thoroughly puzzled. "Does the boots and shoes?" she repeated in a wondering tone.

"Why, what are _your_ shoes done with?" asked the Gryphon. "I mean, what makes them so shiny?"

Prim looked down at them and considered a little before she gave her answer. "They're done with blacking, I believe. That's what the older gentlemen in the Hob once told me."

"Boots and shoes under the sea," the Gryphon went on in a deep voice, "are done with a whiting. Now you know."

"And what are they made of?" Prim asked in a tone of great curiosity.

"Soles and eels, of course," the Gryphon replied rather impatiently. "Any shrimp could have told you that."

"If I'd been the whiting," said Prim, whose thoughts were still running on the song, "I'd have said to the porpoise, 'Keep back, please; we don't want _you_ with us.'"

"They were obliged to have him with them," the Merman said. "No wise fish would go anywhere without a porpoise."

"Wouldn't it really?" asked Prim in a tone of great surprise.

"Of course not," said Merman Finnick. "Why, if a fish came to _me_ and told me he was going a journey, I should say 'With what porpoise?'"

"Don't you mean 'purpose'?" asked Prim.

"I mean what I say," the Merman replied in an offended tone.

And the Gryphon added "Come, let's hear some of _your_ adventures."

"I could tell you my adventures, beginning from this morning," said Prim a little timidly. "But it's no use going back to yesterday because I was a different person then."

"Explain all that," said the Merman.

"No, no! The adventures first," said the Gryphon in an impatient tone. "Explanations take such a dreadful time."

So Prim began telling them her adventures from the time when she first saw Beetee. She was a little nervous about it just at first; however, when Finnick and the Gryphon got so close to her, one on each side, and opened their eyes and mouths so _very_ wide, she began to gain courage as she went on.

Her listeners were perfectly quiet till she got to the part about her repeating " _You are old, President Snow_ " to the Caterpillar with the words all coming different, and then the Merman drew a long breath, and said "That's very curious."

"It's all about as curious as it can be," said the Gryphon.

"It all came different," the Merman repeated thoughtfully. "I should like to hear her try and repeat something now. Tell her to begin." Finnick looked at the Gryphon as if he thought it had some kind of authority over Prim.

"Stand up and repeat '' _Tis the voice of the sluggard_ '," said the Gryphon.

 _How the creatures order one about and make one repeat lessons!_ thought Prim; _I might as well be at school at once._ However, she got up and began to repeat it, but her head was so full of the Lobster Quadrille that she hardly knew what she was saying, and the words came very queer indeed:

"'Tis the voice of the Lobster; I heard him declare,

'You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.'

As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose

Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.

When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,

And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark,

But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,

His voice has a timid and tremulous sound."

"That's different from what I used to say when I was a child," said the Gryphon.

"Well, I never heard it before," said the Merman, "but it sounds uncommon nonsense."

Prim said nothing. She had sat down with her face in her hands, wondering if anything would _ever_ happen in a natural way again.

"I should like to have it explained," said the Merman.

"She can't explain it," said the Gryphon hastily. "Go on with the next verse."

"But about his toes?" the Merman persisted. "How _could_ he turn them out with his nose, you know?"

"It's the first position in dancing," said Prim, who was dreadfully puzzled by the whole thing and longed to change the subject.

"Go on with the next verse," the Gryphon repeated impatiently. "It begins 'I passed by his garden.'"

Prim did not dare to disobey, though she felt sure it would all come wrong, and she went on in a trembling voice:

"I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,

How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie—

The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,

While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat.

When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,

Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:

While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,

And concluded the banquet—"

"What _is_ the use of repeating all that stuff," the Merman interrupted, "if you don't explain it as you go on? It's by far the most confusing thing I ever heard."

"Yes; I think you'd better leave off," said the Gryphon, and Prim was only too glad to do so.

"Shall we try another figure of the Lobster Quadrille?" the Gryphon went on. "Or would you like the Merman to sing you a song?"

"Oh, a song please, if Finnick would be so kind." Prim replied eagerly.

Put off by her quick response, the Gryphon said in a rather offended tone, "Hmm! No accounting for tastes. Sing her 'Annie's Song', will you, old fellow?"

The Merman sighed deeply and began, in a voice sometimes choked with sobs, to sing this:

"Lovely Annie, so tame and kind,

Will you be forever be mine?

Who for such dainties would not stoop?

Love of the morning, beautiful Annie!

Love throughout my day, beautiful Annie!

Beau—ootiful Ann—ie!

Beau—ootiful Ann—ie!

Loo—ove of the e—e—evening,

My beautiful, beautiful Annie!

"Lovely Annie! Who cares for the rich,

Famous, or any other dish?

Who would not give all else for you

I live for only my beautiful Annie?

I live for only my beautiful Annie?

Beau—ootiful Ann—ie!

Beau—ootiful Ann—ie!

Loo—ove of the e—e—evening,

My beautiful, beauti— _ful Annie_!"

"Chorus again!" cried the Gryphon

Finnick had just begun to repeat it when a cry of "The trial's beginning!" was heard in the distance.

"Come on!" cried the Gryphon, and taking Prim by the hand, it hurried off without waiting for the end of the song.

"What trial is it?" Prim panted as she ran.

But the Gryphon only answered "Come on!" and ran the faster while more and more faintly came, carried on the breeze that followed them, the melancholy words:

"Loo—ove of the e—e—evening,

My beautiful, beautiful Annie!"


	11. Who Stole the Tarts?

**CHAPTER XI: Who Stole the Tarts?**

Continuing to play the Queen, President Coin was seated on her throne with Plutarch Heavensbee sitting at her side when Prim and the Gryphon arrived. A great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards. Katniss was standing before them in chains with a soldier on each side to guard her; and near the Plutarch was Beetee with a trumpet in one hand and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court was a table with a large dish of tarts upon it. The desserts looked so good that it made Prim quite hungry to look at them.

 _I wish they'd get the trial done_ , she thought, _and hand round the refreshments_. However, there seemed to be no chance of this, so she began looking at everything about her to pass away the time.

Prim had never been in a court of justice before, but she had read about them in books, and she was quite pleased to find that she knew the name of nearly everything there. "That's the judge," she said to herself, "because of his great wig."

The judge, by the way, was Plutarch; and as he wore a wig, he did not look at all comfortable, and it was certainly not becoming.

 _And that's the jury-box_ , thought Prim, _and those twelve creatures_ , (she was obliged to say _creatures_ , you see, because some of them were animals, and some were people,) "I suppose they are the jurors." She said this last word two or three times over to herself, being rather proud of it, for she thought, and rightly too, that very few little girls of her age knew the meaning of it at all. However, _jury-subjects_ would have done just as well.

The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates. "What are they doing?" Prim whispered to the Gryphon. "They can't have anything to put down yet before the trial's begun."

"They're putting down their names," the Gryphon whispered in reply, "for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial."

"Stupid things," Prim began in a loud, indignant voice, but she stopped hastily for Beetee cried out, "Silence in the court!" and Plutarch put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round to make out who was talking.

Prim could see, as well as if she were looking over their shoulders, that all the jurors were writing down _stupid things!_ on their slates, and she could even make out that one of them didn't know how to spell _stupid_ and that he had to ask his neighbour to tell him. _A nice muddle their slates will be in before the trial's over_ , thought Prim.

One of the jurors had a pencil that squeaked. This of course, Prim could not stand, so she went round the court and got behind him and very soon found an opportunity of taking it away. She did it so quickly that the poor juror (it was Peeta) could not make out at all what had become of it. And after hunting all about for the pencil, the mentally scarred victor was obliged to write with one finger for the rest of the day; and this was of very little use as it left no mark on the slate.

"Herald, read the accusation," said Plutarch.

On this Beetee blew three blasts on the trumpet and then unrolled the parchment scroll and read as follows:

"President Coin, she made some tarts,

All on a summer day:

A Mockingjay, she stole those tarts,

And took them quite away!"

"Consider your verdict," Plutarch said to the jury.

"Not yet, not yet!" Beetee hastily interrupted. "There's a great deal to come before that."

"Call the first witness," said Plutarch

And Beetee blew three blasts on the trumpet, and called out, "First witness."

The first witness was the Escort. She came in with a teacup in one hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other. "I beg pardon, your Majesty," Effie began, "for bringing these in, but I hadn't quite finished my tea when I was sent for."

"You ought to have finished," said Plutarch. "When did you begin?"

Effie looked at Cinna, who had followed her into the court arm-in-arm with Haymitch. "Fourteenth of March, I think it was," said the Escort.

"Fifteenth," said Cinna.

"Sixteenth," slurred Haymitch.

"Write that down," Plutarch said to the jury, and the jury eagerly wrote down all three dates on their slates before adding them up and reducing the answer to minutes and seconds.

"Take off your wig," Plutarch said to the Escort.

"It isn't mine," said the Escort.

"Stolen!" Plutarch exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made a memorandum of the fact.

"It's part of my outfit," the Escort added as an explanation. "I have to make an impression on television. I'm an escort."

Here the Queen put on her spectacles and began staring at the Escort, who turned pale and fidgeted.

"Give your evidence," said Plutarch.

"And don't be nervous," added the Queen, "or I'll have you executed on the spot."

This did not seem to encourage the witness at all. Effie kept shifting from one foot to the other, looking uneasily at Coin, and in her confusion, she bit a large piece out of her teacup instead of the bread-and-butter.

Just at this moment, Prim felt a very curious sensation, which puzzled her a good deal until she made out what it was: she was beginning to grow larger again. And she thought at first she would get up and leave the court, but on second thoughts, she decided to remain where she was as long as there was room for her.

"I wish you wouldn't squeeze so," said Haymitch, who was sitting next to her. "I can hardly breathe."

"I can't help it," said Prim very meekly. "I'm growing."

"You've no right to grow here," said Haymitch.

"Don't talk nonsense," said Prim more boldly. "You've been drinking."

"Wrong. You're implying that I had stopped drinking," said Haymitch, "which could not be farther from the truth." And he got up very sulkily and crossed over to the other side of the court.

All this time, the Queen had never left off staring at the Escort, and just as Haymitch crossed the court, Coin said to one of the officers of the court, "Bring me the list of the singers in the last concert," on which the ditsy Escort trembled so that she shook both her shoes off.

"Give your evidence," the Queen repeated angrily, "or I'll have you executed, whether you're nervous or not."

"I'm a poor woman, your Majesty," the Escort began in a trembling voice, "and I hadn't begun my tea, not above a week or so, and what with the bread-and-butter getting so thin, and the twinkling of the tea—"

"The twinkling of the what?" asked Plutarch.

"It began with the tea," replied the Escort.

"Of course twinkling begins with a T!" said Plutarch sharply. "Do you take me for a dunce? Go on."

"I'm a poor woman," Effie went on, "and most things twinkled after that. Only Cinna said—"

"I didn't" the Stylist interrupted in a great hurry.

"You did," said Effie.

"I deny it," retorted Cinna.

"The stylist denies it," said Plutarch. "Leave out that part."

"Well, at any rate, Haymitch said—" the Escort went on, looking anxiously round to see if he would deny it too, but the drunken man denied nothing, being fast asleep.

"After that," continued the Escort, "I cut some more bread-and-butter—"

"But what did Haymitch say?" one of the jury asked.

"That I can't remember," replied Effie.

"You _must_ remember," remarked Coin, "or I'll have you executed."

The miserable Escort dropped her teacup and bread-and-butter, and went down on one knee. "I'm a poor woman, your Majesty," she began.

"For an escort, you're a very poor speaker," said Plutarch.

Here one of the Avoxes clapped and was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court. (As that is rather a hard word, I will just explain to you how it was done. They had a large canvas bag, which tied up at the mouth with strings; into this, they slipped the Avox, head first, and then sat upon the person.)

 _I'm glad I've seen that done_ , thought Prim. _I've so often read in the newspapers, at the end of trials, 'There was some attempts at applause, which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court, and I never understood what it meant till now._

"If that's all you know about it, you may stand down," continued Plutarch.

"I can't go no lower," said the Escort. "I'm on the floor, as it is."

"Then you may _sit_ down," Plutarch replied.

Here the other Avox clapped...and was suppressed.

 _Come, that finished the Avoxes_ , thought Prim. _Now we shall get on better._

"I'd rather finish my tea," said the Escort with an anxious look at the Queen, who was reading the list of singers.

"You may go," said Plutarch, and the Escort hurriedly left the court without even waiting to put her shoes on.

"And just take her head off outside," the Queen added to one of the officers, but Effie was out of sight before the officer could get to the door.

"Call the next witness," said Plutarch.

The next witness was Duchess Johanna's cook, Greasy Sae. She carried the pepper-box in her hand, and Prim guessed who it was even before she got into the court by the way the people near the door began sneezing all at once.

"Give your evidence," said Plutarch.

"Shan't," said Greasy Sae.

Anxious to please Plutarch, Beetee said in a low voice, "Your Majesty must cross-examine _this_ witness."

"Well, if I must, I must," Plutarch said with a melancholy air, and after folding his arms and frowning at the cook till his eyes were nearly out of sight, he said in a deep voice, "What are tarts made of?"

"Pepper, mostly," said the cook.

"Treacle," said a drunken voice behind her.

"Collar that Drunk," the Queen shrieked out. "Quell him! Turn him out of court! Suppress him! Slap him! Off with his head!"

For some minutes, the whole court was in confusion, getting Haymitch turned out, and by the time they had settled down again, Greasy Sae had disappeared.

"Never mind," said Plutarch with an air of great relief. "Call the next witness." And he added in an undertone to President Coin, "Really, your Majesty, _you_ must cross-examine the next witness. It quite makes my forehead ache."

Prim watched Beetee as he fumbled over the list, feeling very curious to see what the next witness would be like. "For they haven't got much evidence _yet_ ," she said to herself.

Imagine her surprise when Beetee read out at the top of his shrill little voice the name, "Primrose Everdeen!"


	12. Prim's Evidence

**CHAPTER XII: Prim's Evidence**

"Here!" cried Prim, quite forgetting in the flurry of the moment how large she had grown in the last few minutes, and she jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt, upsetting all the jury-subjects onto the heads of the crowd below. And there, they lay sprawling about, reminding her very much of a globe of goldfish that she had accidentally upset the week before.

"Oh, I _beg_ your pardon," she exclaimed in a tone of great dismay, and she began picking them up again as quickly as she could. With the accident of the goldfish kept running through her head, Prim had a vague sort of idea that they must be collected at once and put back into the jury-box or they would die.

"The trial cannot proceed," said Plutarch in a very grave voice, "until all the jury-subjects are back in their proper places... _all_." He repeated the last word with great emphasis, looking hard at Prim as he spoke.

Prim looked at the jury-box and saw that, in her haste, she had put Peeta in head downwards, and the poor little fellow was waving his legs about in a melancholy way, being quite unable to move. She soon got him out again and put him right. "Not that it signifies much with his current mental state," she said to herself; "I should think it would be _quite_ as much use in the trial one way up as the other."

As soon as the jury had recovered a little from the shock of being upset, and their slates and pencils had been found and handed back to them, they set to work very diligently to write out a history of the accident—all except Peeta who seemed too much overcome to do anything but sit with its mouth open, gazing up into the roof of the court.

"What do you know about this business?" Plutarch said to Prim.

"Nothing," replied Prim.

"Nothing _whatever_?" persisted Plutarch.

"Nothing whatever," said Prim.

"That's very important," Plutarch said, turning to the jury.

They were just beginning to write this down on their slates, when Beetee interrupted, " _un_ important, my Lord means, of course," he said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as he spoke.

" _Un_ important, of course, I meant," Plutarch hastily said and went on to himself in an undertone, "important... unimportant... unimportant... important" as if he were trying which word sounded best.

Some of the jury wrote it down _important_ , and some _unimportant_.

Prim could see this as she was near enough to look over their slates. _But it doesn't matter a bit_ , she thought to herself.

At this moment, Plutarch, who had been for some time busily writing in his notebook, cackled out, "Silence!" and read out from his book, "Rule Forty-two: _All persons more than a mile high to leave the court._ "

Everybody looked at Prim.

" _I'm_ not a mile high," said Prim.

"You are," said Plutarch.

"Nearly two miles high," added the Queen.

"Well, I shan't go, at any rate," said Prim; "besides, that's not a regular rule. You invented it just now."

"It's the oldest rule in the book," said Plutarch.

"Then it ought to be Number One," said Prim.

Plutarch turned pale and shut his notebook hastily. "Consider your verdict," he said to the jury in a low, trembling voice.

"There's more evidence to come yet, please my Lord," said Beetee, jumping up in a great hurry. "This paper has just been picked up."

"What's in it?" asked the Queen.

"I haven't opened it yet," said Beetee, "but it seems to be a letter written by the prisoner to...to somebody."

"It must have been that," said Plutarch, "unless it was written to nobody, which isn't usual, you know."

"Who is it directed to?" said one of the jury-subjects.

"It isn't directed at all," said Beetee. "In fact, there's nothing written on the _outside_." He unfolded the paper as he spoke and added, "It isn't a letter after all; it's a set of verses."

"Are they in the prisoner's handwriting?" asked another of the jury-subjects.

"No, they're not," said Beetee, "and that's the queerest thing about it." (The jury all looked puzzled.)

"Katniss must have imitated somebody else's hand," said Plutarch. (The jury all brightened up again.)

"Please, your Majesty," said Katniss to President Coin, "I didn't write it, and they can't prove I did. There's no name signed at the end."

"If you didn't sign it," said Plutarch, "that only makes the matter worse. You _must_ have meant some mischief or else you'd have signed your name like an honest woman."

There was a general clapping of hands at this: it was the first really clever thing Plutarch had said that day.

"That _proves_ her guilt," said the Queen.

"It proves nothing of the sort," said Prim. "Why, you don't even know what they're about."

"Read them," said Plutarch.

Beetee straightened his spectacles. "Where shall I begin, please my Lord?" he asked.

"Begin at the beginning," Plutarch said gravely, "and go on till you come to the end, then stop."

These were the verses Beetee read:

"They told me you had been to her,

And mentioned me to him:

She gave me a good character,

But said I could not swim.

He sent them word I had not gone

(We know it to be true):

If she should push the matter on,

What would become of you?

I gave her one, they gave him two,

You gave us three or more;

They all returned from him to you,

Though they were mine before.

If I or she should chance to be

Involved in this affair,

He trusts to you to set them free,

Exactly as we were.

My notion was that you had been

(Before she had this fit)

An obstacle that came between

Him, and ourselves, and it.

Don't let him know she liked them best,

For this must ever be

A secret, kept from all the rest,

Between yourself and me."

"That's the most important piece of evidence we've heard yet," said Plutarch rubbing his hands. "So now let the jury—"

"If any one of them can explain it," said Prim, (she had grown so large in the last few minutes that she wasn't a bit afraid of interrupting him,) "I'll give them my food rations. _I_ don't believe there's an atom of meaning in it."

The jury all wrote down on their slates, ' _she' doesn't believe there's an atom of meaning in it_ , but none of them attempted to explain the paper.

"If there's no meaning in it," said Plutarch, "that saves a world of trouble, you know, as we needn't try to find any. And yet I don't know." The man spread out the verses over his knees, and looking at them discreetly, he said, "I seem to see some meaning in them after all. ' _Said I could not swim_ ' you can't swim, can you?" he added, turning to Katniss.

The young lady gave the man a confused look. "Of course I can. Didn't you watch your own Hunger Games?" she said. (Which surprised many in the courtroom, especially those made entirely of cardboard.)

"Fair enough," said Plutarch, and he went on muttering over the verses to himself, "' _We know it to be true'_ , that's the jury, of course. ' _I gave her one, they gave him two_ ', why, that must be what she did with the tarts, you know—"

"But, it goes on, ' _They all returned from him to you'_ ," said Prim.

"Why, there they are!" said Plutarch triumphantly, pointing to the tarts on the table. "Nothing can be clearer than _that_. Then again, ' _Before She had this fit'._ You never had fits, my Queen, I think?" he said to Coin.

"Never!" said the Queen furiously, throwing an inkstand at Peeta as she spoke.

(The unfortunate Peeta had left off writing on his slate with one finger as he found it made no mark, but he now hastily began again, using the ink that was trickling down his face as long as it lasted.)

"Then the words don't _fit_ you," said Plutarch, looking round the court with a smile. There was a dead silence.

"It's a pun," Plutarch added in an offended tone, and everybody laughed. "Let the jury consider their verdict," Plutarch said, for about the twentieth time that day.

"No, no!" said the Queen. "Sentence first, verdict afterwards."

"Stuff and nonsense," said Prim loudly. "The idea of having the sentence first."

"Hold your tongue!" said the Queen, turning purple.

"I won't," said Prim.

"Off with her head!" the Queen shouted at the top of her voice.

Nobody moved.

"Who cares for you?" said Prim, (she had grown to her full size by this time.) "You're nothing but a pack of cards, playing the same game as President Snow."

At this, the whole pack rose up into the air and came flying down upon her. She gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off when she found herself lying on the floor in their compartment with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away Buttercup's tail from her face.

"Wake up, Prim dear," said Katniss; "Why, what a long nap you've had."

"Oh, I've had such a curious dream," said Prim, and she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about.

And when she had finished, Katniss kissed her and said, "It _was_ a curious dream, dear, certainly, but now run done to the dining hall for your dinner. It's getting late, and you know they like their schedules."

So Prim got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.

But Katniss sat still just as she left her, leaning her head against her bunk, watching the last traces of sunlight fade in the tiny window that allowed Buttercup to the surface of District 13. She thought of little Prim and all her wonderful Adventures, till she too began dreaming after a fashion, and this was Katniss's dream:

First, she dreamed of little Prim herself, and once again the tiny hands were clasped upon her knee, and the bright eager eyes were looking up into hers. Katniss could hear the very tones of her voice, and see that queer little toss of her head to keep back the wandering hair that _would_ always get into her eyes, and still as she listened, or seemed to listen, the whole place around her became alive with the strange creatures of her little sister's dream.

Beetee's wheelchair creaked loudly when the man miraculously jumped to his feet, the frightened Mouse splashed his way through the neighbouring pool, Katniss could hear the rattle of the teacups as Cinna and his friends shared their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of Coin ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution like a Queen. Once more, the pig-baby was sneezing on Duchess Johanna's knee while plates and dishes crashed around it. Once more, the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the Peeta's slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed Avoxes, filled the air, mixed up with the distant sobs of the miserable, love struck Merman.

So Katniss sat on with closed eyes and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again and all would change to dull reality. The smell of fresh grass would be replaced by the smell of District 13's disinfectant, and the pool rippling would turn out to be the sound of rushing water in the bunker's plumbing. The rattling teacups would change to footsteps in the hall, and the Queen's shrill cries to the voice of the sentry on duty, turning away the occasional lost survivor from District 12, often lost in the underground maze. And the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all the other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the confused clamour of the busy workings of underground life of District 13, while Buttercup's subtle growls would take the place of the Merman's heavy sobs.

Lastly, Katniss pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman and how she would keep through all her riper years the simple and loving heart of her childhood. How Prim would gather about her other little children and make _their_ eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago. And how Prim would feel with all their naive sorrows and find a pleasure in all their innocent joys, remembering her own child-life and the happy simpler days.

 **THE END OF PART I**

Part II: Looking Glass

(In Progress)


	13. Looking-Glass House

**Part Two**

 **CHAPTER I: Looking-Glass house**

One thing was certain, that the white stray kitten was much more playful and friendlier than her Buttercup back in District 13. For the white kitten had been playfully chasing after Prim's loose bootlaces from the leg she had hung over an armchair for the last quarter of an hour. The kitten had not tired one bit from the mischief, but Prim had.

Prim could do all she could to keep herself from falling asleep after a long day of medic training where the rebel army had set up a camp in the heart of District 2's Victor's Village. The rebel army had immediately commenced with training exercising to prepare for the big push into the Capitol. This location, at least, gave Prim and the other handful of 14 year-old-girls a temporary sanctuary, allowing them to shelter in one of the victor's abandoned homes rather than select tents in the rebel encampment, a place fraught with its own dangers.

A black stray kitten that had been finished with Prim's laces earlier scurried busily unseen out of Prim's view. And so, while Prim was sitting curled up in a corner of the great arm-chair, half talking to herself and half asleep, the black kitten had a grand game of romps with a ball of yarn Prim had been trying to wind up, rolling it about the room till it had all come undone again. And there the yarn was, spread over the hearth-rug, all knots and tangles, with the kitten running after its own tail in the middle.

"Oh, you wicked little thing!" cried Prim, scooping up the black kitten, and giving it a little kiss to make it understand that it was in disgrace. "Really, your mother ought to have taught you better manners! She _ought_ , Dinah, you know you ought!' she added, speaking playfully in as cross a voice. She then looked reproachfully at an old cat with an elaborate embroidered collar with said name. Cracking a smile, Prim scrambled back into the arm-chair, taking the kitten and the yarn with her before winding up the ball again; however, she didn't get on very fast as she was talking all the time, sometimes to the kitten and sometimes to herself.

The kitty sat very demurely on her knee, pretending to watch the progress of the winding, and now and then putting out one paw and gently touching the ball as if it would be glad to help, if it might.

"Do you know what tomorrow is, Kitty?" Prim began. "You'd have guessed if you'd been up in the window with me—only Dinah was making you tidy, so you couldn't. I was watching the soldiers gathering wood for their bonfires—and they need plenty of wood, Kitty! Only it got so cold, and it snowed so, they had to leave off training to avoid getting frostbite..." Prim's mind became filled with memories of blackened toes and fingers recently seen, leaving her staring at the burning fire in the hearth.

"Never mind, Kitty, we'll go and see the main bonfire tomorrow." Here Prim wound two or three turns of the yarn loosely around the kitten's neck just to see how it would look; this led to a scramble in which the ball fell from her lap down upon the floor and yards and yards of the soft thread unwound once more.

"Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty," Prim went on as soon as she had untangled the kitten from the mess, winding the yarn once more in the chair, "when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow. And you'd have deserved it, you little mischievous darling. What have you got to say for yourself? Now don't interrupt me." Prim held up one finger. "I'm going to tell you all your faults. Number one: you squeaked twice while your mother was washing your face this morning. Now you can't deny it, Kitty; I heard you. What's that you say?" (Pretending that the kitten was speaking.) "Her paw went into your eye? Well, that's _your_ fault for keeping your eyes open—if you'd shut them tight up, it wouldn't have happened. Now don't make any more excuses, but listen. Number two: you pulled Snowdrop away by the tail just as I had put down the saucer of milk before her. What, you were thirsty, were you? How do you know she wasn't thirsty too? Now for number three: you unwound every bit of the yarn while I wasn't looking.

"That's three faults, Kitty, and you've not been punished for any of them yet. You know I'm saving up all your punishments for Wednesday." Reflecting on the recent events that had left her paralyzed with fear, Prim said, talking more to herself than the kitten, "Suppose they had saved up all _my_ mistakes. What _would_ they do at the end of a year? I should be court martialled, I suppose, when the day came. Or, let me see, suppose each mistaken took away a meal ration; then, when that miserable day came, I should have to go without fifty dinners at once. Well, I shouldn't mind _that_ much. I'd far rather go without them than eat them. Katniss fed mother and me better than any army cook did."

Prim became lost in memories of home, her District 12 home, until the sound of large snowflakes blown into the panes of glass grabbed her attention. "Do you hear the snow against the window-panes, Kitty? How nice and soft it sounds. Just as if someone was kissing the window all over outside. I wonder if the snow _loves_ the trees and fields that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, 'Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.' And when they wake up in the summer, Kitty, they dress themselves all in green, and dance about whenever the wind blows—oh, that's very pretty." said Prim with a faint smile, letting the ball of yarn fall from her hands. "And I do so _wish_ it was true. I'm sure the woods look sleepy in the autumn, when the leaves are getting brown."

"Kitty, can you play chess? Now, don't smile, my dear, I'm asking it seriously. Because, when we were playing just now, you watched just as if you understood it, and when I said 'Check' you purred. Well, it _was_ a nice check, Kitty, and really, I might have won, if it hadn't been for that nasty Knight that came wiggling down among my pieces. Kitty, dear, let's pretend—"

And here I wish I could tell you half the things Prim used to say, beginning with her favourite phrase 'Let's pretend.' She had quite a long argument with her sister the year before—all because Prim had begun with 'Let's pretend we're kings and queens,' and her sister, who liked being very exact, had argued that they couldn't because there were only two of them. So Prim had been reduced at last to say, "Well, _you_ can be one of them then, and _I'll_ be all the rest." And once she had really frightened her mother by shouting suddenly in her ear, "Mom! Do let's pretend that I'm a hungry hyena, and you're a bone."

But this is taking us away from Prim's speech to the kitten. "Let's pretend that you're the Red Queen, Kitty. Do you know, I think if you sat up and folded your arms, you'd look exactly like her. Now do try, there's a dear." And Prim got the Red Queen off the table, and set it up before the kitten as a model for it to imitate; however, the idea didn't succeed, principally Prim said, because the kitten wouldn't fold its arms properly. To punish it, she held it up to the Looking-glass so that it might see how sulky it was. "And if you're not good directly," she added, "I'll put you through into Looking-glass House. How would you like _that_?"

"Now, if you'll only attend, Kitty, and not talk so much, I'll tell you all my ideas about Looking-glass House. First, there's the room you can see through the glass that's just the same as our drawing room, only the things go the other way. I can see all of it when I get upon a chair, all but the bit behind the fireplace. Oh, I do so wish I could see _that_ bit. I want so much to know whether they've a fire in the winter; you never _can_ tell, you know, unless our fire smokes, and then smoke comes up in that room too, but that may be only pretence, just to make it look as if they had a fire. Well then, the books are something like our books, only the words go the wrong way; I know that because I've held up one of our books to the glass, and then they hold up one in the other room.

"How would you like to live in Looking-glass House, Kitty? I wonder if they'd give you milk in there? Perhaps Looking-glass milk isn't good to drink. But _oh_ , Kitty, now we come to the passage. You can just see a little _peep_ of the passage in Looking-glass House, if you leave the door of our drawing-room wide open, and it's very like our passage as far as you can see, only you know it may be quite different on beyond. Oh, Kitty, how nice it would be if we could only get through into Looking-glass House. I'm sure it's got, _oh_ such beautiful things in it.

Let's pretend there's a way of getting through into it somehow, Kitty. Let's pretend the glass has got all soft like gauze so that we can get through. Why, it's turning into a sort of mist now, I declare. It'll be easy enough to get through." Prim was up on the chimney-piece while she said this, though she hardly knew how she had got there. And certainly the glass _was_ beginning to melt away, just like a bright silvery mist.

In another moment, Prim was through the glass and had jumped lightly down into the Looking-glass room. The very first thing she did was to look whether there was a fire in the fireplace, and she was quite pleased to find that there was a real one, blazing away as brightly as the one she had left behind. "So I shall be as warm here as I was in the old room," thought Prim aloud, "warmer, in fact, because there'll be no one here to scold me away from the fire. Oh, what fun it'll be, when they see me through the glass in here, and can't get at me."

Then she began looking about and noticed that what could be seen from the old room was quite common and uninteresting, but that all the rest was as different as possible. For instance, the pictures on the wall next the fire seemed to be all alive, and the very clock on the chimney-piece (you know you can only see the back of it in the Looking-glass) wore the face of a little old man, which grinned at her.

 _They don't keep this room so tidy as the other_ , Prim thought to herself as she noticed several of the chessmen down in the hearth among the cinders, but in another moment, with a little "Oh!" of surprise, Prim was down on her hands and knees watching the chessmen walking about, two and two.

"Here are the Red King and the Red Queen," Prim said—in a whisper for fear of frightening them. "And there are the White King and the White Queen sitting on the edge of the shovel, and here are two castles walking arm in arm. I don't think they can hear me," she went on, as she put her head down closer, "and I'm nearly sure they can't see me. I feel somehow as if I were invisible—"

Here something began squeaking on the table behind Prim, which made her turn her head just in time to see one of the White Pawns roll over and begin kicking. She watched it with great curiosity to see what would happen next.

"It is the voice of my child!" the White Queen cried out as she rushed past the King, so violently that she knocked him over among the cinders. "My precious Lily! My imperial kitten!" And the Queen began scrambling wildly up the side of the fender.

"Imperial fiddlestick," said the King rubbing his nose, which had been hurt by the fall. He had a right to be a _little_ annoyed with the Queen, for he was covered with ashes from head to foot.

Prim was very anxious to be of use, and as the poor little Lily was nearly screaming herself into a fit, she hastily picked up the Queen and set her on the table by the side of her noisy little daughter.

The Queen gasped and sat down, for the rapid journey through the air had quite taken her breath away. And for a minute or two, she could do nothing but hug the little Lily in silence. As soon as she had recovered her breath a little, she called out to the White King, who was sitting sulkily among the ashes, "Mind the volcano!"

"What volcano?" asked the King, looking up anxiously into the fire as if he thought that was the most likely place to find one.

"Blew—me—up," panted the Queen, who was still a little out of breath. "Mind you come up—the regular way—don't get blown up."

Prim watched the White King as he slowly struggled up from bar to bar till at last, she said, "Why, you'll be hours and hours getting to the table at that rate. I'd far better help you, hadn't I?"

But the King took no notice of the question; it was quite clear that he could neither hear her nor see her.

So Prim picked him up very gently, lifting him across more slowly than she had lifted the Queen, that she mightn't take his breath away. But before she put him on the table, she thought she might as well dust him a little as he was so covered with ashes.

She said afterwards that she had never seen in all her life such a face as the King made when he found himself held in the air by an invisible hand. For being dusted, he was far too much astonished to cry out, but his eyes and his mouth went on getting larger and larger, and rounder and rounder, till her hand shook so with laughing that Prim nearly let him drop upon the floor.

"Oh _please_ , don't make such faces, my dear," Prim cried out, quite forgetting that the King couldn't hear her. "You make me laugh so that I can hardly hold you. And don't keep your mouth so wide open. All the ashes will get into it. There now, I think you're tidy enough," she added as she smoothed his hair and set him upon the table near the Queen.

When the King immediately fell flat on his back and lay perfectly still, Prim became a little alarmed at what she had done and went round the room to see if she could find any water to throw over him. However, she could find nothing but a bottle of ink, and when she got back with it, she found he had recovered, and he and the Queen were talking together in a frightened whisper—so low that Prim could hardly hear what they said.

The King was saying, "I assure you, my dear, I turned cold to the very ends of my whiskers."

To which the Queen replied, "You haven't got any whiskers."

"The horror of that moment," the King went on, "I shall never, _never_ forget."

"You will, though," the Queen said, "if you don't make a memorandum of it."

Prim looked on with great interest as the King took an enormous memorandum-book out of his pocket and began writing. A sudden thought struck her, and she took hold of the end of the pencil, which came some way over his shoulder and began writing for him.

The poor King looked puzzled and unhappy, and struggled with the pencil for some time without saying anything, but Prim was too strong for him and at last, he panted out, "My dear, I really _must_ get a thinner pencil. I can't manage this one a bit; it writes all manner of things that I don't intend—"

"What manner of things?" asked the Queen, looking over the book (in which Prim had put _The White Knight is sliding down the poker. He balances very badly._ ) "That's not a memorandum of _your_ feelings."

There was a book lying near Prim on the table, and while she sat watching the White King (for she was still a little anxious about him, and had the ink all ready to throw over him in case he fainted again), she turned over the leaves to find some part that she could read, "For it's all in some language I don't know," she said to herself.

It was like this:

 **ykcowrebbaJ**

sevot yhtils eht dna,gillirb sawT'  
ebaw eht ni elbmig dna eryg diD  
,sevogorob eht erew ysmim llA  
.ebargtuo shtar emom eht dnA

She puzzled over this for some time, but at last, a bright thought struck her. "Why, it's a Looking-glass book, of course! And if I hold it up to a glass, the words will all go the right way again."

This was the poem that Prim read:

 ** _JABBERWOCKY_**

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
And the mome raths outgrabe.

'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!  
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!  
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun  
The frumious Bandersnatch!'

He took his vorpal sword in hand:  
Long time the manxome foe he sought—  
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,  
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,  
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,  
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,  
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through  
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!  
He left it dead, and with its head  
He went galumphing back.

'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?  
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!  
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'  
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"It seems very pretty," she said when she had finished it, "but it's _rather_ hard to understand." (You see she didn't like to confess, even to herself that she couldn't make it out at all.) "Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas—only I don't exactly know what they are! However, _somebody_ killed something; that's clear at any rate—"

"But _oh_ ," thought Prim, suddenly jumping up, "if I don't make haste I shall have to go back through the Looking-glass before I've seen what the rest of the house is like. Let's have a look at the garden first." She was out of the room in a moment and ran down stairs—or at least, it wasn't exactly running but a new invention of hers for getting down stairs quickly and easily—as Prim reasoned with herself. She just kept the tips of her fingers on the hand-rail and floated gently down without even touching the stairs with her feet; then she floated on through the hall—and would have gone straight out at the door in the same way if she hadn't caught hold of the door-post. She had become a little giddy with so much floating in the air and was rather glad to find herself walking again in the natural way.


	14. The Garden of Live Flowers

**CHAPTER II: The Garden of Live Flowers**

"I should see the garden far better," said Prim to herself, "if I could get to the top of that hill; and here's a path that leads straight to it, at least...no, it doesn't do that..." After going a few yards along the path, and turning several sharp corners, Prim continued, "But I suppose it will at last. But how curiously it twists. It's more like a corkscrew than a path. Well, _this_ turn goes to the hill, I suppose...no, it doesn't! This goes straight back to the house. Well then, I'll try it the other way."

And so Prim did, wandering up and down, and trying turn after turn, but she always returned to the house do what she would. Indeed once, when she turned a corner rather more quickly than usual, she ran against it before she could stop herself.

"It's no use talking about it," Prim said, looking up at the house and pretending it was arguing with her. "I'm _not_ going in again yet. I know I should have to get through the Looking-glass again, back into the old room, but that would be an end of all my adventures."

So, resolutely turning her back upon the house, she set out once more down the path, determined to keep straight on till she got to the hill. For a few minutes, all went on well, and she was just saying, "I really _shall_ do it this time—" when the path gave a sudden twist and shook itself (as she described it afterwards), and the next moment, she found herself actually walking in at the door.

" _Oh_ , it's too bad," she cried. "I never saw such a house for getting in the way. Never!"

However, there was the hill full in sight, so there was nothing to be done but start again. This time she came upon a large flower-bed with a border of daisies and a willow-tree growing in the middle.

"O Tiger-lily," Prim said, addressing herself to one that was waving gracefully about in the wind, "I _wish_ you could talk."

"We _can_ talk," said the Tiger-lily, "when there's anybody worth talking to."

Prim was so astonished that she could not speak for a minute; it quite seemed to take her breath away. At length, as the Tiger-lily only went on waving about, she spoke again in a timid voice—almost in a whisper. "And can _all_ the flowers talk?"

"As well as _you_ can," said the Tiger-lily. "And a great deal louder."

"It isn't manners for us to begin, you know," said the Rose, "and I really was wondering when you'd speak. Said I to myself, 'Her face has got _some_ sense in it, though it's not a clever one.' Still, you're the right colour, and that goes a long way."

"I don't care about the colour," the Tiger-lily remarked. "If only her petals curled up a little more, she'd be all right."

Prim didn't like being criticised, so she began asking questions. "Aren't you sometimes frightened at being planted out here with nobody to take care of you?"

"There's the tree in the middle," said the Rose, "what else is it good for?"

"But what could it do if any danger came?" asked Prim.

"It says, 'Bough-wough!'" cried a Daisy. "That's why its branches are called boughs."

"Didn't you know _that_?" cried another Daisy, and here they all began shouting together till the air seemed quite full of little shrill voices.

"Silence, every one of you!" the Tiger-lily cried, waving itself passionately from side to side and trembling with excitement. "They know I can't get at them," it panted, bending its quivering head towards Prim, "or they wouldn't dare do it."

"Never mind," Prim said in a soothing tone. She stooped down to the daisies, who were just beginning again, and whispered, "If you don't hold your tongues, I'll pick you."

There was silence in a moment, and several of the pink daisies turned white.

"That's right," said the Tiger-lily. "The daisies are worst of all. When one speaks, they all begin together, and it's enough to make one wither to hear the way they go on."

"How is it you can all talk so nicely?" Prim asked, hoping to soothe the flower into a better temper by means of a compliment. "I've been in many gardens before, but none of the flowers could talk."

"Put your hand down and feel the ground," said the Tiger-lily. "Then you'll know why."

Prim did so. "It's very hard," she said, "but I don't see what that has to do with it."

"In most gardens," the Tiger-lily said, "they make the beds too soft so that the flowers are always asleep."

This sounded a very good reason, and Prim was quite pleased to know it. "I never thought of that before," she said.

"It's _my_ opinion that you never think _at all_ ," the Rose said in a rather severe tone.

"I never saw anybody that looked stupider," a Violet said so suddenly that Prim quite jumped, for it hadn't spoken before.

"Hold _your_ tongue!" cried the Tiger-lily. "As if _you_ ever saw anybody. You keep your head under the leaves and snore away there till you know no more what's going on in the world than if you were a bud."

"Are there any more people in the garden besides me?" Prim asked, choosing not to notice the Rose's last remark.

"There's one other flower in the garden that can move about like you," said the Rose. "I wonder how you do it—" ("You're always wondering," interjected Tiger-lily), "but she's more bushy than you are."

"Is she like me?" Prim asked eagerly, for the thought filled her mind, _There's another little girl in the garden, somewhere!_

"Well, she has the same awkward shape as you," the Rose said, "but she's redder, and her petals are shorter, I think."

"Her petals are done up close, almost like a dahlia," the Tiger-lily interrupted, "not tumbled about anyhow, like yours."

"But that's not _your_ fault," the Rose added kindly. "You're beginning to fade, you know, and then one can't help one's petals getting a little untidy."

Prim didn't like this idea at all, so to change the subject, she asked, "Does she ever come out here?"

"I daresay you'll see her soon," said the Rose. "She's one of the thorny kind."

"Where does she wear the thorns?" Prim asked with some curiosity.

"Why all round her head of course," the Rose replied. "I was wondering _you_ hadn't got some too. I thought it was the regular rule."

"She's coming!" cried the Larkspur. "I hear her footstep, thump, thump, thump, along the gravel-walk."

Prim looked round eagerly and found that the person was President Coin. "She now appears…royal," was Prim's first remark. The president had indeed changed: dressed like the Red Queen, the woman's mannerisms appeared haughtier than before, with a smug expression resembling that of the chess piece Prim had found in the ashes.

"It's the fresh air that does it," said the Rose. "Wonderfully fine air it is, out here. It strengthens the constitution."

Though the flowers were interesting enough, Prim felt that it would be far grander to have a talk with the president. "I think I'll go and meet her," she said.

"You can't possibly do that," said the Rose. " _I_ should advise you to walk the other way."

This sounded nonsense to Prim, so she said nothing but set off at once towards the woman now dressed like the Red Queen. To her surprise, she lost sight of the woman in that moment and found herself walking in at the front-door again.

A little provoked, she drew back, and after looking everywhere for the president (whom she spied out at last, a long way off), Prim thought this time she would try the plan of walking in the opposite direction.

It succeeded beautifully. She had not been walking a minute before she found herself face to face with the Red Queen, who was indeed President Coin, and full in sight of the hill she had been so long aiming.

"Where do you come from?" asked President Coin. "And where are you going? Look up, speak nicely, and don't twiddle your fingers all the time."

Prim attended to all these directions and explained, as well as she could that she had lost her way.

"I don't know what you mean by _your_ way," said President Coin. "All the ways about here belong to _me_ , but why did you come out here at all?" she asked in a kinder tone. "Curtsey while you're thinking what to say, it saves time."

Prim wondered a little at this, but she was too much in awe of the president to disbelieve it. _I'll try it when I go home_ , she thought to herself, _the next time I'm a little late for dinner._

"It's time for you to answer now," President Coin said, looking at her watch. "Open your mouth a _little_ wider when you speak, and always say 'Madam President.'"

"I only wanted to see what the garden was like, Madam—"

"That's right," said the president as she patted Prim on the head, which no child like at all. "Though, when you say 'garden', _I've_ seen gardens compared with which, this would be a wilderness."

Prim didn't dare to argue the point but went on, "And I thought I'd try and find my way to the top of that hill—"

"When you say 'hill'," the president interrupted, " _I_ could show you hills in comparison with which, you'd call that a valley."

"No, I shouldn't," said Prim, surprised into contradicting her at last. "A hill _can't_ be a valley, you know. That would be nonsense—"

President Coin shook her head, "You may call it 'nonsense' if you like," she said, "but _I've_ heard nonsense compared with which that would be as sensible as a dictionary."

Prim curtseyed again as she was afraid from the president's tone that she was a _little_ offended. And they walked on in silence till they got to the top of the little hill.

For some minutes, Prim stood without speaking, looking out in all directions over the country, and a most curious country it was. There were a number of tiny little brooks running straight across it from side to side, and the ground between was divided up into squares by a number of little green hedges that reached from brook to brook.

"I declare, it's marked out just like a large chessboard," Prim said at last. "There ought to be some men moving about somewhere..., and so there are," she added in a tone of delight, and her heart began to beat quickly with excitement as she went on. "It's a great huge game of chess that's being played—all over the world— if this _is_ the world at all, you know. Oh, what fun it is! How I _wish_ I was one of them. I wouldn't mind being a Pawn; if only I might join, though of course, I should _like_ to be a Queen, best."

Prim glanced rather shyly at President Coin, who seemed to revel in her assumed role of the Red Queen.

The cavalier woman only smiled pleasantly and said, "That's easily managed. You can be the White Queen's Pawn, if you like, as Lily's too young to play; and you're in the Second Square to begin with. When you get to the Eighth Square, you'll be a Queen—"

Just at this moment, somehow or other, they began to run.

In thinking it over afterwards, Prim never could quite make out how it was that they began. All she remembers is that they were running hand in hand, and President Coin–much like the Queen chess piece—went so fast that it was all she could do to keep up with her; and still the president kept crying "Faster! Faster!" but Prim felt she _could not_ go faster, having no breath left to say so.

The most curious part of the thing was that the trees and the other things round them never changed their places at all. However fast they went, they never seemed to pass anything.

 _I wonder if all the things move along with us?_ thought poor, puzzled Prim.

And President Coin seemed to guess her thoughts, for the self-declared queen cried, "Faster! Don't try to talk!"

Not that Prim had any idea of doing _that_. She felt as if she would never be able to talk again. She was getting so much out of breath, and still, President Coin cried "Faster! Faster!" and dragged her along.

"Are we nearly there?" Prim managed to pant out at last.

"Nearly there," the president repeated. "Why, we passed it ten minutes ago. Faster!"

And they ran on for a time in silence with the wind whistling in Prim's ears; almost blowing her hair off her head she fancied.

"Now! Now!" cried President Coin. "Faster! Faster!" And they went so fast that at last they seemed to skim through the air, hardly touching the ground with their feet till suddenly, just as Prim was getting quite exhausted, they stopped.

And Prim found herself sitting on the ground, breathless and giddy.

The president propped her up against a tree and said kindly, "You may rest a little now."

Prim looked round her in great surprise. "Why, I do believe we've been under this tree the whole time. Everything's just as it was."

"Of course it is," said President Coin. "What would you have it?"

"Well, in _our_ district," said Prim, still panting a little, "you'd generally get to somewhere else if you ran very fast for a long time, as we've been doing."

A slow sort of district." retorted President Coin. "Now, _here_ , you see, it takes all the running _you_ can do to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that."

"I'd rather not try, please," said Prim. "I'm quite content to stay here, only I _am_ so hot and thirsty."

I know what _you'd_ like," the president said good-naturedly, taking a little box out of her pocket. "Have a cookie?"

Prim thought it would not be civil to say "No", though it wasn't at all what she wanted. So she took it and ate it as well as she could. It was _very_ dry, and she thought she had never been so nearly choked in all her life.

"While you're refreshing yourself," said the president, "I'll just take the measurements." And she took a ribbon out of her pocket, marked in inches, and began measuring the ground, sticking little pegs in here and there.

"At the end of two yards," President Coin said as she placed a peg to mark the distance, "I shall give you your directions. Have another cookie?"

"No, thank you," said Prim. "One's _quite_ enough."

"Thirst quenched, I hope?" asked the president.

Prim did not know what to say to this.

Luckily, President Coin did not wait for an answer but went on. "At the end of _three_ yards I shall repeat them, for fear of your forgetting them. At the end of _four_ , I shall say good-bye. And at the end of _five_ , I shall go."

The president had got all the pegs put in by this time, and Prim looked on with great interest as President Coin returned to the tree and then began slowly walking down the row.

At the two-yard peg, the president faced round and said, "A pawn goes two squares in its first move, you know. So you'll go _very_ quickly through the Third Square, by railway I should think, and you'll find yourself in the Fourth Square in no time. Well, _that_ square belongs to Tweedledum and Tweedledee; the Fifth is mostly water; the Sixth belongs to Humpty Dumpty. But you make no remark?"

"I...I didn't know I had to make one," just then, Prim faltered out.

"You _should_ have said, 'It's extremely kind of you to tell me all this'; however, we'll suppose it said. The Seventh Square is all Forest; however, one of the Knights will show you the way. And in the Eighth Square, we shall be Queens together, and it's all feasting and fun."

Prim got up and curtseyed, and sat down again.

At the next peg, President Coin turned again and this time said, "Speak in French when you can't think of the English for a thing, turn out your toes as you walk, and remember who you are." She did not wait for Prim to curtsey this time but walked on quickly to the next peg where she turned for a moment to say "good-bye", and then hurried on to the last.

How it happened, Prim never knew; but exactly as she came to the last peg, the president was gone. Whether this woman peculiarly dressed like the Red Queen vanished into the air, or whether she ran quickly into the wood ( _and she 'can'_ _run very fast!_ thought Prim), there was no way of guessing, but she was gone, and Prim began to remember that she was a Pawn and that it would soon be time for her to move.


	15. Looking-Glass Insects

**CHAPTER III: Looking-Glass Insects**

Of course, the first thing to do was to make a grand survey of the country Prim was going to travel through. _It's something very like learning geography_ , she thought as she stood on tiptoe in hopes of being able to see a little further. _Principal rivers: there 'are' none. Principal mountains: I'm on the only one, but I don't think it's got any name. Principal towns: why, what 'are' those creatures, making honey down there? They can't be bees; nobody ever saw bees a mile off, you know._ And for some time, she stood silent, watching one of them that was bustling about among the flowers, poking its proboscis into them. _Just as if it was a regular bee_ , thought Prim.

However, this was anything but a regular bee. In fact, it was an Elephant as Prim soon found out—though the idea quite took her breath away at first. "And what enormous flowers they must be!" was her next idea. "Something like cottages with the roofs taken off and stalks put to them; and what quantities of honey they must make! I think I'll go down and...no, I won't _just_ yet _,_ " she went on, checking herself just as she was beginning to run down the hill, trying to find some excuse for turning shy so suddenly. "It'll never do to go down among them without a good long branch to brush them away, and what fun it'll be when they ask me how I like my walk. I shall say, 'Oh, I like it well enough,' (here came the favourite little toss of the head), 'only it was so dusty and hot, and the elephants did tease so!'"

"I think I'll go down the other way," she said after a pause, "and perhaps I may visit the elephants later on. Besides, I do so want to get into the Third Square."

So with this excuse, she ran down the hill and jumped over the first of the six little brooks.

. . . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . . .

"Tickets, please," a Guard said, putting his head in at the window. In a moment, everybody was holding out a ticket; they were about the same size as the people and quite seemed to fill the carriage.

"Now then, show your ticket, child," the Guard went on, looking angrily at Prim. And a great many voices all said together ( _like the chorus of a song_ , thought Prim), "Don't keep him waiting, child. Why, his time is worth a thousand pounds a minute."

"I'm afraid I haven't got one," Prim said in a frightened tone. "There wasn't a ticket-office where I came from."

And again, the chorus of voices went on, "There wasn't room for one where she came from. The land there is worth a thousand pounds an inch."

"Don't make excuses," said the Guard. "You should have bought one from the engine-driver."

And once more the chorus of voices went on with, "The man that drives the engine. Why, the smoke alone is worth a thousand pounds a puff."

Prim thought to herself, _Then there's no use in speaking._

The voices didn't join in this time as she hadn't spoken, but to her great surprise, they all _thought_ in chorus (I hope you understand what _thinking in chorus_ means, for I must confess that _I_ don't), _better say nothing at all. Language is worth a thousand pounds a word._

 _I shall dream about a thousand pounds tonight, I know I shall_ , thought Prim.

All this time, the Guard was looking at her, first through a telescope, then through a microscope, and then through an opera-glass. At last he said, "You're travelling the wrong way," and shut up the window and went away.

"So young a child," said the gentleman sitting opposite to her (he was dressed in white paper), "ought to know which way she's going, even if she doesn't know her own name."

A Goat, who was sitting next to the gentleman in white, shut his eyes and said in a loud voice, "She ought to know her way to the ticket-office, even if she doesn't know her alphabet."

There was a Beetle sitting next to the Goat (it was a very queer carriage-full of passengers altogether), and as the rule seemed to be that they should all speak in turn, _he_ went on with, "She'll have to go back from here as luggage."

Prim could not see who was sitting beyond the Beetle, but a hoarse voice spoke next. "Change engines...," it said and was obliged to leave off.

 _It sounds like a horse_ , Prim thought to herself.

And an extremely small voice close to her ear said, "You might make a joke on that, something about 'horse' and 'hoarse', you know."

Then a very gentle voice in the distance said, "She must be labeled _Lass, with care_ , you know."

And after that, other voices went on ( _What a number of people there are in the carriage!_ thought Prim), saying, "She must go by post, as she's got a head on her." "She must be sent as a message by the telegraph." "She must draw the train herself the rest of the way," and so on.

But the gentleman dressed in white paper leaned forwards and whispered in her ear, "Never mind what they all say, my dear, but take a return-ticket every time the train stops."

"Indeed I shan't," Prim said rather impatiently. "I don't belong to this railway journey at all. I was in a wood just now, and I wish I could get back there."

"You might make a joke on _that_ ," said the little voice close to her ear, "something about 'you _would_ if you could', you know."

"Don't tease so," said Prim looking about in vain to see where the voice came from. "If you're so anxious to have a joke made, why don't you make one yourself?"

The little voice sighed deeply; it was evidently _very_ unhappy.

Prim would have said something pitying to comfort it. _If it would only sigh like other people_ , she thought. But this was such a wonderfully small sigh that she wouldn't have heard it at all if it hadn't come _quite_ close to her ear. The consequence of this was that it tickled her ear very much and quite took off her thoughts from the unhappiness of the poor little creature.

"I know you are a friend," the little voice went on, "a dear friend, and an old friend. And you won't hurt me though I _am_ an insect."

"What kind of insect?" Prim inquired a little anxiously. What she really wanted to know was whether it could sting or not, but she thought this wouldn't be quite a civil question to ask.

"What, then you don't—' the little voice had begun when it was drowned by a shrill scream from the engine, and everybody jumped up in alarm, Prim among the rest.

The Horse, who had put his head out of the window, quietly drew it in and said, "It's only a brook we have to jump over."

Everybody seemed satisfied with this, though Prim felt a little nervous at the idea of trains jumping at all. "However, it'll take us into the Fourth Square; that's some comfort," she said to herself. In another moment she felt the carriage rise straight up into the air, and in her fright, she caught at the thing nearest to her hand, which happened to be the Goat's beard.

. . . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . . .

But the beard seemed to melt away as she touched it, and she found herself sitting quietly under a tree while the Gnat (for that was the insect she had been talking to) was balancing itself on a twig just over her head, fanning her with its wings.

It certainly was a _very_ large Gnat. _About the size of a chicken_ , Prim thought. Still, she couldn't feel nervous with it after they had been talking together so long.

"...then you don't like all insects?" the Gnat went on as quietly as if nothing had happened.

"I like them when they can talk," Prim said. "None of them ever talk where _I_ come from."

"What sort of insects do you rejoice in where _you_ come from?" the Gnat inquired.

"I don't _rejoice_ in insects at all," Prim explained, "because I'm rather afraid of them, at least the large kinds. But I can tell you the names of some of them."

"Of course they answer to their names," the Gnat remarked carelessly.

"I never knew them to do it."

"What's the use of them having names," the Gnat said, "if they won't answer to them?"

"No use to _them_ ," said Prim, "but it's useful to the people who name them, I suppose. If not, why do things have names at all?"

"I can't say," the Gnat replied. "Further on, in the wood down there, they've got no names; however, go on with your list of insects; you're wasting time."

"Well, there's the Horse-fly," Prim began, counting off the names on her fingers.

"All right," said the Gnat, "half way up that bush, you'll see a Rocking-horse-fly, if you look. It's made entirely of wood, and gets about by swinging itself from branch to branch."

"What does it live on?" Prim asked with great curiosity.

"Sap and sawdust," said the Gnat. "Go on with the list."

Prim looked up at the Rocking-horse-fly with great interest and made up her mind that it must have been just repainted, appearing so bright and sticky; and then she went on, "And there's the Dragon-fly."

"Look on the branch above your head," said the Gnat, "and there you'll find a snap-dragon-fly. Its body is made of plum-pudding, its wings of holly-leaves, and its head is a raisin burning in brandy."

"And what does it live on?"

"Frumenty and mince pie," the Gnat replied, "and it makes its nest in a Christmas box."

"And then there's the Butterfly," Prim went on, after she had taken a good look at the insect with its head on fire and had thought to herself, _I wonder if that's the reason insects are so fond of flying into candles is because they want to turn into Snap-dragon-flies!_

"Crawling at your feet," said the Gnat (Prim drew her feet back in some alarm), "you may observe a Bread-and-Butterfly. Its wings are thin slices of Bread-and-butter; its body is a crust; and its head is a lump of sugar."

"And what does _it_ live on?"

"Weak tea with cream in it."

A new difficulty came into Prim's head. "Supposing it couldn't find any?" she suggested.

"Then it would die, of course."

"But that must happen very often," Prim remarked thoughtfully.

"It always happens," said the Gnat.

After this, Prim was silent for a minute or two, pondering.

The Gnat amused itself meanwhile by humming round and round her head. At last, it settled again and remarked, "I suppose you don't want to lose your name?"

"No, indeed," Prim said a little anxiously.

"And yet I don't know," the Gnat went on in a careless tone, "only think how convenient it would be if you could manage to go home without it. For instance, if the governess wanted to call you to your lessons, she would call out 'come here', and there she would have to leave off because there wouldn't be any name for her to call; and of course, you wouldn't have to go, you know."

"That would never do, I'm sure," said Prim. "The governess would never think of excusing me lessons for that. If she couldn't remember my name, she'd call me 'Miss' as the servants do."

"Well, if she said 'Miss' and didn't say anything more," the Gnat remarked, "of course you'd _miss_ your lessons. That's a joke. I wish _you_ had made it."

"Why do you wish _I_ had made it?" Prim asked. "It's a very bad one."

But the Gnat only sighed deeply as two large tears came rolling down its cheeks.

"You shouldn't make jokes," Prim said, "if it makes you so unhappy."

Then came another of those melancholy little sighs, and this time, the poor Gnat really seemed to have sighed itself away, for when Prim looked up, there was nothing whatever to be seen on the twig. And as she was getting quite chilly with sitting still so long, she got up and walked on.

She very soon came to an open field with a wood on the other side of it; it looked much darker than the last wood, and Prim felt a _little_ timid about going into it. However, on second thoughts, she made up her mind to go on, _for I certainly won't go 'back'_ , she thought to herself since this was the only way to the Eighth Square.

"This must be the wood," she said thoughtfully to herself, "where things have no names. I wonder what'll become of _my_ name when I go in? I shouldn't like to lose it at all because they'd have to give me another, and it would be almost certain to be an ugly one. But then, the fun would be trying to find the creature that had got my old name. That's just like the advertisements, you know, when people lose dogs, _Answers to the name of 'Dash'. Had on a brass collar._ Just fancy calling everything you met 'Prim' till one of them answered. Only they wouldn't answer at all if they were wise."

She was rambling on in this way when she reached the wood; it looked very cool and shady. "Well, at any rate it's a great comfort," she said as she stepped under the trees, "after being so hot to get into the...into _what_?' she went on, rather surprised at not being able to think of the word. "I mean to get under the...under the...under _this_ , you know!" Prim placed her hand on the trunk of the tree. "What _does_ it call itself, I wonder? I do believe it's got no name, why to be sure, it hasn't!"

She stood silent for a minute, thinking. Then she suddenly began again, "Then it really _has_ happened, after all. And now, who am I? I _will_ remember if I can. I'm determined to do it!" But being determined didn't help much, and all she could say after a great deal of puzzling was, "L, I _know_ it begins with L."

Just then, a Fawn came wandering by. It looked at Prim with its large gentle eyes and did not seem at all frightened.

"Here then. Here then," Prim said as she held out her hand and tried to stroke it; but it only started back a little and then stood looking at her again.

"What do you call yourself?" the Fawn said at last. Such a soft sweet voice it had.

 _I wish I knew_ , thought poor Prim. She answered rather sadly, "Nothing, just now."

"Think again," the animal said; "that won't do."

Prim thought but nothing came of it. "Please, would you tell me what _you_ call yourself?" she said timidly. "I think that might help a little."

"I'll tell you if you'll move a little further on," the Fawn said. "I can't remember here."

So they walked on together though the wood, Prim with her arms clasped lovingly round the soft neck of the Fawn, till they came out into another open field. And here, the Fawn gave a sudden bound into the air and shook itself free from Prim's arms.

"I'm a Fawn!" it cried out in a voice of delight. "And, dear me, you're a human child." A sudden look of alarm came into its beautiful brown eyes, and in another moment, it had darted away at full speed.

Prim stood looking after it, almost ready to cry with vexation at having lost her dear little fellow-traveler so suddenly. "However, I know my name now," she said. "That's _some_ comfort. Prim, Prim, I won't forget it again. And now, which of these finger-posts ought I to follow, I wonder?"

It was not a very difficult question to answer as there was only one road through the wood, and the two finger-posts both pointed along it. "I'll settle it," Prim said to herself, "when the road divides and they point different ways."

But this did not seem likely to happen. She went on and on, a long way, but wherever the road divided there were sure to be two finger-posts pointing the same way: one marked _To_ Tweedledum's House and the other _To The House Of Tweedledee_.

"I do believe," said Prim at last, "that they live in the same house. I wonder I never thought of that before. But I can't stay there long. I'll just call and say 'how d'you do?' and ask them the way out of the wood. If I could only get to the Eighth Square before it gets dark."

So she wandered on, talking to herself as she went, till on turning a sharp corner, she came upon two young men so suddenly that she could not help starting back; but in another moment, she recovered herself, realizing who they must be.


	16. Tweedledum And Tweedledee

**CHAPTER IV: Tweedledum And Tweedledee**

They were standing under a tree, each with an arm round the other's neck, and Prim knew which was which in a moment, because one of them had _Dum_ embroidered on his collar, and the other _Dee_. "I suppose they've each got _Tweedle_ round at the back of the collar," she said to herself.

They stood so still that she quite forgot they were alive, and she was just looking round to see if the word _Tweedle_ was written at the back of each collar when she was startled by a voice coming from the one marked _Dum_ —it was Peeta Mellark's, her sister's finance!

"If you think we're wax-works," Peeta said, "you ought to pay, you know. Wax-works weren't made to be looked at for nothing, no how."

"Contrariwise," added the one marked _Dee_ —who Prim promptly recognized as her sister's friend, Gale Hawthorne, "if you think we're alive, you ought to speak."

"I'm sure. I'm very sorry,' was all Prim could say, for the words of the old song kept ringing through her head like the ticking of a clock. And she could hardly help saying them out loud:

'Tweedledum and Tweedledee  
Agreed to have a royal battle;  
For Tweedledum said Tweedledee  
Had spoiled his betrothed's bauble.

Just then flew down a mockingjay,  
As black as a tar-barrel;  
Which frightened them in such a way,  
That they quite forgot their quarrel.'

"I know what you're thinking about," said Peeta, "but it isn't so, no how."

"Contrariwise," continued Gale, "if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic."

"I was thinking," Prim said very politely, "which is the best way out of this wood. It's getting so dark. Would you tell me, please?"

But the little men only looked at each other and grinned.

Since they looked so exactly like a couple of great schoolboys, Prim couldn't help pointing her finger at Tweedledum, and say, "Peeta."

"No how!" Peeta cried out briskly, shutting his mouth up again with a snap.

"Gale," said Prim passing on to Tweedledee, though she felt quite certain he would only shout out "Contrariwise!", and so he did.

"You've been wrong," cried Peeta. "The first thing in a visit is to say, 'How d'ye do?' and shake hands."

And here the two young men gave each other a hug and then they held out the two hands that were free to shake hands with her.

Prim did not like shaking hands first with either of them for fear of hurting the other one's feelings. So, as the best way out of the difficulty, she took hold of both hands at once.

The next moment they were dancing round in a ring. This seemed quite natural (she remembered afterwards), and she was not even surprised to hear music playing, which seemed to come from the tree closest to where they were dancing, and it was done (as well as she could make it out) by the branches rubbing together, like fiddles and fiddle-sticks.

"But it certainly _was_ funny," (Prim said afterwards, when she was telling her sister the history of all this), "to find myself singing _Here we go round the mulberry bush_. I don't know when I began it, but somehow I felt as if I'd been singing it a long long time."

The other two dancers were lackadaisical and very soon out of breath. "Four times round is enough for one dance," Peeta panted out, and they left off dancing as suddenly as they had begun. The music stopped at the same moment.

Then they let go of Prim's hands and stood looking at her for a minute. There was a rather awkward pause, as Prim did not know how to begin a conversation with people she had just been dancing with. "It would never do to say 'How d'ye do?' _now_ ," she said to herself. "We seem to have got beyond that, somehow."

"I hope you're not much tired?" she said at last.

"No how. And thank you _very_ much for asking," said Peeta.

"So much obliged," added Gale. "You like poetry?"

"Ye-es, pretty well... _some_ poetry," Prim said doubtfully. "Would you tell me which road leads out of the wood?"

"What shall I repeat to her?" Gale asked, looking round at Peeta with great solemn eyes, not noticing Prim's question.

" _The Valley Song_. Melodies always make poems more palatable," said Peeta, giving his finance's good friend an affectionate hug.

Gale began instantly:

"Down in the valley, the valley so low—"

Here Prim ventured to interrupt him. "If it's _very_ long," she said as politely as she could, "would you please tell me first which road—"

Gale smiled gently, and began again:

Down in the valley, the valley so low,  
Hang your head over, hear the winds blow.  
Hear the winds blow, dear, hear the winds blow.  
Hang your head over, hear the winds blow.

Down in the valley, walking between,  
Telling our story, here's what it means.  
Here's what it means, dear, here's what it means,  
Telling our story, here's what it means.

Roses love sunshine, violets love dew,  
Angels in heaven know I love you;  
Know I love you, dear, know I love you,  
Angels in heaven know I love you.

Build me a castle forty feet high,  
So I can see him as he rides by;  
As he rides by, dear, as he rides by,  
So I can see him as he rides by.

Writing this letter, containing three lines,  
Answer my question, "Will you be mine?"  
"Will you be mine, dear, will you be mine,"  
Answer my question, "Will you be mine?"

If you don't love me, love whom you please,  
Throw your arms round me, give my heart ease.  
Give my heart ease, dear, give my heart ease,  
Throw your arms round me, give my heart ease.

Throw your arms round me, before it's too late;  
Throw your arms round me, feel my heart break.  
Feel my heart break, dear, feel my heart break.  
Throw your arms round me, feel my heart break.

"That was nice," said Prim. "My sister sings this one a lot. Well, she used to."

"She used to sing it when we were returning from hunting," said Gale. "I was never sure if there was a message in it for me."

"I wouldn't presume anything," Prim said indifferently. "She would sing just for the sake of it at times, like our father."

"But she should have song more at school," said Peeta. "She should have joined choir."

This was a puzzler. After a pause, Prim began, "Well, she had no time after school. She had to provide for..." Here she checked herself, alarmed at hearing something that sounded to her like the puffing of a large steam-engine in the wood nearby, though she feared it was more likely to be a wild beast. "Are there any lions or tigers about here?" she asked timidly.

"It's only the Red King snoring," said Gale.

"Come and look at him," the two young men cried, and they each took one of Prim's hands and led her up to where the Red King was sleeping.

"Isn't he a _lovely_ sight?" said Peeta.

Prim could not say honestly that he was lovely or not, for you see, she recognized the man to be Plutarch Heavensbee, the Head Gamemaker, the recent planner of the terrible games that sacrificed children, and now, war propagandist.

The man wore a tall red night-cap with a tassel, and he was lying crumpled up into a sort of untidy heap, and snoring loud, "fit to snore his head off!" as Peeta remarked.

"I'm afraid he'll catch cold with lying on the damp grass," said Prim, who was a very thoughtful little girl despite any feelings she may hold against the man.

"He's dreaming now,' said Gale, "and what do you think he's dreaming about?"

Prim said, "Nobody can guess that."

"Why, about _you_!" Gale exclaimed, clapping his hands triumphantly. "And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?"

"Where I am now, of course," said Prim.

"Not you," Gale retorted contemptuously. "You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream."

"If that there _propagandist_ was to wake," added Peeta, "you'd go out—bang! Just like a candle."

"I shouldn't," Prim exclaimed indignantly. "Besides, if _I'm_ only a sort of thing in his dream, what are _you_ , I should like to know?"

"Ditto," said Peeta.

"Ditto, ditto," cried Gale.

He shouted this so loud that Prim couldn't help saying, "Hush, I'm afraid you'll be waking him if you make so much noise."

"Well, it no use _your_ talking about waking him," said Peeta, "when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."

"I _am_ real!" said Prim, who began to cry.

"You won't make yourself a bit realer by crying," Gale remarked. "There's nothing to cry about."

"If I wasn't real," Prim said, half-laughing through her tears for it all seemed so ridiculous, "I shouldn't be able to cry."

"I hope you don't suppose those are real tears?" Peeta interrupted, in a tone of doubt.

 _I know they're talking nonsense_ , Prim thought to herself, _and it's foolish to cry about it_. So she brushed away her tears and went on as cheerfully as she could, "At any rate I'd better be getting out of the wood, for really, it's coming on very dark. Do you think it's going to rain?"

Peeta spread a large umbrella over himself, including Gale, and looked up into it. "No; I don't think it is," he said. "At least, not under _here_. No how."

"But it may rain _outside_?"

"It may, if it chooses," said Gale. "We've no objection. Contrariwise."

 _Selfish things!_ thought Prim, and she was just going to say "Good-night" and leave them when Peeta sprang out from under the umbrella and seized her by the wrist.

Do you see _that_?' he said in a voice choking with passion, and his eyes grew large and yellow all in a moment as he pointed with a trembling finger at a small metallic object lying under the tree.

"It's only a lost piece of jewelry," Prim said after a simple examination of the little metallic thing. "Nothing dangerous, you know," she added hastily, thinking that he was frightened. "Only an old broach or pin, quite old and dirty."

"I knew it was!" cried Peeta, beginning to stamp about wildly as he pulled at his hair. "It's spoilt, of course!" Here he looked at Gale, who immediately sat down on the ground and tried to hide himself under the umbrella.

Prim laid her hand upon his arm and said in a soothing tone, "You needn't be so angry about an old piece of jewelry."

"But it isn't old!" Tweedledum cried in a greater fury than ever. "It's Katniss's mockingjay pin, I tell you. I was supposed to look over it; I wanted to keep it _safe_!" and his voice rose to a perfect scream.

All this time, Gale was trying his best to fold up the umbrella with himself in it, which was such an extraordinary thing to do that it quite took Prim's attention away from the angry young man. But Gale couldn't quite succeed, and his attempt ended in his rolling over, bundled up in the umbrella with only his head out; and there he lay, opening and shutting his mouth and large eyes.

 _Looking more like a fish than anything else_ , Prim thought.

"Of course you agree to have a battle?" Peeta said in a calmer tone.

"I suppose so," Gale sulkily replied as he crawled out of the umbrella. "Only _she_ must help us to dress up, you know."

The two young men next went off hand-in-hand into the wood and returned in a minute with their arms full of things: such as bolsters, blankets, hearth-rugs, table-cloths, dish-covers and coal-scuttles.

"I hope you're a good hand at pinning and tying strings," Peeta remarked. "Every one of these things has got to go on, somehow or other."

Prim said afterwards she had never seen such a fuss made about anything in all her life, the way those two bustled about, and the quantity of things they put on, and the trouble they gave her in tying strings and fastening buttons. "Really, they'll be more like bundles of old clothes than anything else by the time they're ready," she said to herself as she arranged a bolster round the neck of Gale

"To keep his head from being cut off." Gale then added very gravely, "You know, it's one of the most serious things that can possibly happen to one in a battle, to get one's head cut off."

Prim laughed aloud, but she managed to turn it into a cough for fear of hurting his feelings.

"Do I look very pale?" Peeta asked, coming up to have his helmet tied on. (He _called_ it a helmet though it certainly looked much more like a saucepan.)

"Well...yes...a _little_ ," Prim replied gently.

"I'm very brave generally," Peeta went on in a low voice. "Only today I happen to have a headache."

"And _I've_ got a toothache," said Gale, who had overheard the remark. "I'm far worse off than you."

"Then you'd better not fight today," Prim said, thinking it a good opportunity to make peace.

"We _must_ have a bit of a fight, but I don't care about going on long," said Peeta. "What's the time now?"

Gale looked at his watch and said, "Half-past four."

"Let's fight till six and then have dinner,' said Peeta.

"Very well," the other said rather sadly. "And _she_ can watch us, only you'd better not come _very_ close," he added. "I generally hit everything I can see when I get really excited."

"And _I_ hit everything within reach," cried Peeta, "whether I can see it or not."

Prim laughed. "You must hit the _trees_ pretty often, I should think."

Peeta looked round him with a satisfied smile. "I don't suppose," he said, "there'll be a tree left standing for ever so far round by the time we've finished."

"And all about a pin," said Prim, still hoping to make them a _little_ ashamed of fighting for such a trifle.

"I shouldn't have minded it so much," said Peeta, "if it hadn't been your sister's."

 _I wish an actual mockingjay would come!_ thought Prim.

"There's only one sword, you know," Peeta said to his opponent. "But you can have the umbrella; it's quite as sharp. Only we must begin quickly. It's getting as dark as it can."

"And darker," said Gale.

It was getting dark so suddenly that Prim thought there must be a thunderstorm coming on. "What a thick black cloud that is," she said. "And how fast it comes. Why, I do believe it's got wings!'

"It's a mockingjay! It's the largest one I've ever seen!" Peeta cried out in a shrill voice of alarm, and the two young men took to their heels and were out of sight in a moment.

Prim ran a little way into the wood and stopped under a large tree. _It can never get at me 'here'_ , she thought. _It's far too large to squeeze itself in among the trees. But I wish it wouldn't flap its wings so; it makes quite a hurricane in the wood._

Prim soon spotted a piece of wool tumbling past on the trail and said aloud, "See; here's somebody's shawl being blown away!"


	17. Wool and Water

**CHAPTER V: Wool and Water**

Prim caught the shawl as she spoke and looked about for the owner. In another moment, the White Queen came running wildly through the wood with both arms stretched out wide as if she were flying, and Prim very civilly went to meet her with the shawl.

"I'm very glad I happened to be in the way," Prim said as she helped the woman to put on her shawl again.

The White Queen only looked at her in a helpless frightened sort of way, and kept repeating something in a whisper to herself that sounded like "bread-and-butter, bread-and-butter."

Prim thought the old woman's face was familiar, though she could not remember her name. She felt that if there was to be any conversation at all she must manage it herself. So she began rather timidly, "Am I addressing the White Queen?"

"Well, yes, if you call that a-dressing," The Queen said. "It isn't _my_ notion of the thing, at all."

Prim thought it would never do to have an argument at the very beginning of their conversation, so she smiled and said, "If your Majesty will only tell me the right way to begin, I'll do it as well as I can."

"But I don't want it done at all," groaned the poor Queen. "I've been a-dressing myself for the last two hours."

It would have been all the better, as it seemed to Prim, if she had got someone else to dress her; she was so dreadfully untidy. _Every single thing's crooked_ , Prim thought to herself, _and she's all over pins!_ "May I put your shawl straight for you?" she added aloud.

"I don't know what's the matter with it," the Queen said in a melancholy voice. "It's out of temper, I think. I've pinned it here, and I've pinned it there, but there's no pleasing it."

"It _can't_ go straight, you know, if you pin it all on one side," Prim said, as she gently put it right for her. "And, dear me, what a state your hair is in."

"The brush has got entangled in it," the Queen said with a sigh. "And I lost the comb yesterday."

Prim carefully released the brush and did her best to get the hair into order. As she gently brushed out the woman's bangs, Prim asked, "Please forgive me, your Majesty, but I seem to have forgotten your name."

A puzzled look came over the Queen. "I seem to have forgotten myself. I do remember a long time ago that some used to call me…Wiress, I think."

"Wiress?" repeated Prim. She paused combing the woman's hair as she began to recognize the facial features and the voice. The girl returned to combing and said, "I remember now. You helped my sister."

"Incorrect!" said Wiress with a wry smile. "Your sister helped me. As with most things here, you have it backwards."

Prim simply smiled as she finished untangling the woman's hair, admiring how the woman had not lost any of her eccentric charm. "Come, you look rather better now," she said after altering most of the pins. "But really you should have a lady's maid now that you're a _Queen_."

"I'm sure I'll take you with pleasure," Wiress said. "Twopence a week and jam every other day."

Prim couldn't help laughing as she said, "I don't want you to hire _me_ , and I don't care for jam."

"It's very good jam," said Wiress.

"Well, I don't want any _today_ , at any rate."

"You couldn't have it if you _did_ want it," Wiress said. "The rule is: Jam tomorrow and jam yesterday, but never jam today."

"It _must_ come sometimes to 'jam today'," Prim objected.

"No, it can't," said Wiress. "It's jam every _other_ day; today isn't any _other_ day, you know."

"I don't understand you," said Prim. "It's dreadfully confusing."

"That's the effect of living backwards," Wiress said kindly. "It always makes one a little giddy at first…."

"Living backwards!" Prim repeated in great astonishment. "I never heard of such a thing."

"...but there's one great advantage in it, that one's memory works both ways."

"I'm sure _mine_ only works one way," Prim remarked. "I can't remember things before they happen."

"It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards," Wiress remarked.

"What sort of things do _you_ remember best?" Prim ventured to ask.

"Oh, things that happened the week after next," Wiress replied in a careless tone. "For instance, now," she went on, applying a medical bandage to her finger as she spoke, "there's the King's Messenger. He's in prison now, being punished, and the trial doesn't even begin till next Wednesday. And of course, the crime comes last of all."

"Suppose he never commits the crime?" said Prim.

"That would be all the better, wouldn't it?" Wiress said as she bound the medical bandage around her finger with a bit of ribbon.

Prim felt there was no denying _that_. "Of course it would be all the better," she said, "but it wouldn't be all the better his being punished."

"You're wrong _there_ , at any rate," said Wiress. "Were _you_ ever punished?"

"Only for faults," said Prim.

"And you were all the better for it, I know," the peculiar Queen said triumphantly.

"Yes, but then I _had_ done the things I was punished for," said Prim, "that makes all the difference."

"But if you _hadn't_ done them," Wiress said, "that would have been better still, better, and better, and better!" Her voice went higher with each "better," till it got quite to a squeak at last.

Prim was just beginning to say, "There's a mistake somewhere—" when the woman began screaming so loud that she had to leave the sentence unfinished.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Wiress shouted, shaking her hand about as if she wanted to shake it off. "My finger's bleeding! Oh, oh, oh, oh!" Her screams were so exactly like the whistle of a steam-engine that Prim had to hold both her hands over her ears.

"What _is_ the matter?" Prim asked as soon as there was a chance of making herself heard. "Have you pricked your finger?"

"I haven't pricked it _yet_ ," Wiress said, "but I soon shall...oh, oh, oh!"

"When do you expect to do it?" Prim asked, feeling very much inclined to laugh.

"When I fasten my shawl again," the poor woman groaned out, "the brooch will come undone directly. Oh, oh!" As she said the words, the brooch flew open, and the Queen clutched wildly at it and tried to clasp it again.

"Take care!" cried Prim. "You're holding it all crooked." And the young girl caught at the brooch; but it was too late; the pin had slipped, and the woman had pricked her finger.

"That accounts for the bleeding, you see," Wiress said to Prim with a smile. "Now you understand the way things happen here."

"But why don't you scream now?" Prim asked, holding her hands ready to put over her ears again.

"Why, I've done all the screaming already," said Wiress. "What would be the good of having it all over again?"

By this time, it was getting light. "The monster mockingjay must have flown away, I think," said Prim. "I'm so glad it's gone. I thought it was the night coming on."

"I wish _I_ could manage to be glad," Wiress said. "Only I never can remember the rule. You must be very happy, living in this wood and being glad whenever you like."

"Only it is so _very_ lonely here," Prim said in a melancholy voice; and at the thought of her loneliness, two large tears came rolling down her cheeks.

"Oh, don't go on like that," cried the poor woman, her hands wringing in despair. "Consider what a great girl you are. Consider what a long way you've come today. Consider what o'clock it is. Consider anything, only don't cry."

Prim could not help laughing at this, even in the midst of her tears. "Can _you_ keep from crying by considering things?' she asked.

"That's the way it's done," Wiress said with great decision. "Nobody can do two things at once, you know. Let's consider your age to begin with; how old are you?"

"I'm seven and a half exactly."

"You needn't say 'exactually'," Wiress remarked. "I can believe it without that. Now I'll give _you_ something to believe. I'm just one hundred and one, five months and a day."

"I can't believe _that_ ," said Prim.

"Can't you?" Wiress said in a pitying tone. "Try again; draw a long breath and shut your eyes."

Prim laughed. "There's no use trying," she said. "One _can't_ believe impossible things."

"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said Wiress. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why sometimes, I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast. There goes the shawl again."

The brooch had come undone as she spoke, and a sudden gust of wind blew the White Queen's shawl across a little brook. The woman spread out her arms again and went flying after it, and this time she succeeded in catching it for herself. "I've got it!" she cried in a triumphant tone. "Now you shall see me pin it on again, all by myself."

"Then I hope your finger is better now," Prim said very politely as she crossed the little brook after the Queen.

. . . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . . .

"Oh, much better!" cried Wiress, her voice rising to a squeak as she went on. "Much be-etter! Be-etter! Be-e-e-etter! Be-e-ehh!' The last word ended in a long bleat, so like a sheep, that Prim quite started.

She looked at the Queen, who seemed to have suddenly wrapped herself up in wool. Prim rubbed her eyes and looked again. She couldn't make out what had happened at all. Was she in a shop? And was that really...was it really a _sheep_ that was sitting on the other side of the counter? Rub as she could, she could make nothing more of it. Prim was in a little dark shop, leaning with her elbows on the counter, and opposite to her was an old Sheep sitting in an arm-chair knitting, leaving off every now and then to look at her through a great pair of spectacles.

"What is it you want to buy?" the Sheep said at last, looking up for a moment from her knitting.

"I don't _quite_ know yet," Prim said very gently. "I should like to look all round me first if I might."

"You may look in front of you, and on both sides if you like," said the Sheep, "but you can't look _all_ round you, unless you've got eyes at the back of your head."

But these, as it happened, Prim had _not_ got, so she contented herself with turning round, looking at the shelves as she came to them.

The shop seemed to be full of all manner of curious things. But the oddest part of it all was that whenever she looked hard at any shelf to make out exactly what it had on it, that particular shelf was always quite empty, though the others round it were crowded as full as they could hold.

"Things flow about so here," she said at last in a plaintive tone, after spending a minute or so in vainly pursuing a large bright thing that looked sometimes like a doll and sometimes like a work-box, which was always in the shelf next, above the one she was looking at. "And this one is the most provoking of all, but I'll tell you what," she added as a sudden thought struck her, "I'll follow it up to the very top shelf of all. It'll puzzle it to go through the ceiling, I expect."

But even this plan failed, the 'thing' went through the ceiling as quietly as possible, as if it were quite used to it.

"Are you a child or a teetotum?" the Sheep said as she took up another pair of needles. "You'll make me giddy soon if you go on turning round like that." The Sheep was now working with fourteen pairs at once, and Prim couldn't help looking at her in great astonishment.

 _How can she knit with so many?_ the puzzled child thought to herself. _She gets more and more like a porcupine every minute!_

"Can you row?" the Sheep asked, handing her a pair of knitting-needles as she spoke.

"Yes, a little, but not on land...and not with needles—"' Prim was beginning to say when suddenly the needles turned into oars in her hands, and she found they were in a little boat, gliding along between banks, so there was nothing for it but to do her best.

"Feather," cried the Sheep as she took up another pair of needles.

This didn't sound like a remark that needed any answer, so Prim said nothing but pulled away. There was something very queer about the water, she thought, as every now and then the oars got stuck in it and would hardly come out again.

"Feather. Feather," the Sheep cried again, taking more needles. "You'll be catching a crab directly."

 _A dear little crab_ , thought Prim. _I should like that._

"Didn't you hear me say 'Feather'?" the Sheep cried angrily, taking up quite a bunch of needles.

"Indeed I did," said Prim. "You've said it very often...and very loud. Please, where _are_ the crabs?"

"In the water, of course," said the Sheep before sticking some of the needles into her hair as her hands were full. "Feather, I say."

" _Why_ do you say 'feather' so often?" Prim asked at last, rather vexed. "I'm not a bird."

"You are," said the Sheep. "You're a little goose."

This offended Prim a little, so there was no more conversation for a minute or two while the boat glided gently on, sometimes among beds of weeds (which made the oars stick in the water, worse than ever), and sometimes under trees, but always with the same tall river-banks frowning over their heads.

"Oh _please_ , there are some scented rushes," Prim cried in a sudden transport of delight. "There really are, and _such_ beauties."

"You needn't say 'please' to _me_ about 'em," the Sheep said without looking up from her knitting. "I didn't put 'em there, and I'm not going to take 'em away."

"No, but I meant: please, may we wait and pick some?" Prim pleaded. "If you don't mind stopping the boat for a minute."

"How am _I_ to stop it?" said the Sheep. "If you leave off rowing, it'll stop of itself."

So the boat was left to drift down the stream as it would till it glided gently in among the waving rushes. And then the little sleeves were carefully rolled up, and the little arms were plunged in elbow-deep to get the rushes a good long way down before breaking them off. And for a while, Prim forgot all about the Sheep and the knitting as she bent over the side of the boat with just the ends of her tangled hair dipping into the water while with bright eager eyes, she caught at one bunch after another of the darling scented rushes.

"I only hope the boat won't tipple over!" she said to herself. "Oh _what_ a lovely one. Only I couldn't quite reach it." And it certainly _did_ seem a little provoking ( _almost as if it happened on purpose,_ she thought) that though she managed to pick plenty of beautiful rushes as the boat glided by, there was always a more lovely one that she couldn't reach.

"The prettiest are always further," she said at last with a sigh at the obstinacy of the rushes in growing so far off. As with flushed cheeks and dripping hair and hands, she scrambled back into her place and began to arrange her new-found treasures.

What mattered it to her just then that the rushes had begun to fade, losing all their scent and beauty from the very moment that she picked them? Even real scented rushes, you know, last only a very little while, and these, being dream-rushes, melted away almost like snow as they lay in heaps at her feet, but Prim hardly noticed this. There were so many other curious things to think about.

They hadn't gone much farther before the blade of one of the oars got stuck in the water and _wouldn't_ come out again (so Prim explained it afterwards), and the consequence was that the handle of it caught her under the chin, and in spite of a series of little shrieks of "Oh, oh, oh!" from poor Prim, it swept her straight off the seat and down among the heap of rushes. However, she wasn't hurt and was soon up again.

The Sheep went on with her knitting all the while just as if nothing had happened. "That was a nice crab you caught," she remarked as Prim got back into her place, very much relieved to find herself still in the boat.

"Was it? I didn't see it," said Prim before peeping cautiously over the side of the boat into the dark water. "I wish it hadn't let go. I should so like to see a little crab to take home with me."

But the Sheep only laughed scornfully and went on with her knitting.

"Are there many crabs here?" said Prim.

"Crabs and all sorts of things," said the Sheep. "Plenty of choice; only make up your mind. Now, what _do_ you want to buy?"

"To buy?" Prim echoed in a tone that was half astonished and half frightened, for the oars, and the boat, and the river, had vanished all in a moment, and the young girl was back again in the little dark shop.

"I should like to buy an egg, please," she said timidly. "How do you sell them?"

"Fivepence farthing for one. Twopence for two," the Sheep replied.

"Then two are cheaper than one?" Prim said in a surprised tone, taking out her purse.

"Only you _must_ eat them both if you buy two," said the Sheep.

"Then I'll have _one_ , please," said Prim as she put the money down on the counter. For she thought to herself, _They mightn't be at all nice, you know._

The Sheep took the money and put it away in a box. Then she said, "I never put things into people's hands; that would never do. You must get it for yourself."

And so saying, Prim went off to the other end of the shop and set the egg upright on a shelf. _I wonder 'why' it wouldn't do?_ thought Prim as she groped her way among the tables and chairs, for the shop was very dark towards the end. "The egg seems to get further away the more I walk towards it. Let me see; is this a chair? Why, it's got branches, I declare. How very odd to find trees growing here. And actually, here's a little brook. Well, this is the very queerest shop I ever saw."

. . . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . . . .

So she went on, wondering more and more at every step as everything turned into a tree the moment she came up to it—and she quite expected the egg to do the same.


	18. Caesar Flickerman

**CHAPTER VI: Caesar Flickerman**

However, the egg only got larger and larger, and more and more human; when she had come within a few yards of it, she saw that it had eyes and a nose and mouth; and when she had come close to it, she saw clearly that it was _Caesar Flickerman_ himself. "It can't be anybody else," she said to herself. "I'm as certain of it, as if his name were written all over his face."

It might have been written a hundred times, easily, on that enormous face. Caesar Flickerman was sitting with his legs crossed, like a Turk, on the top of a high wall, such a narrow one that Prim quite wondered how he could keep his balance. And as his eyes were steadily fixed in the opposite direction, and he didn't take the least notice of her, she thought he must be a stuffed figure after all.

"And how exactly like an egg he is," she said aloud, standing with her hands ready to catch him, for she was every moment expecting him to fall.

"It's _very_ provoking," Caesar said after a long silence, looking away from Prim as he spoke, "to be called an egg— _very_!"

"I said you _looked_ like an egg, Sir," Prim gently explained. "And some eggs are very pretty, you know," she added, hoping to turn her remark into a sort of a compliment.

"Some people," said Caesar, looking away from her as usual, "have no more sense than a baby."

Prim didn't know what to say to this. It wasn't at all like conversation, she thought, as he never said anything to _her_. In fact, his last remark was evidently addressed to a tree, so she stood and softly repeated to herself:

'Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall:  
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.  
All the King's horses and all the King's men  
Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty in his place again.'

"That last line is much too long for the poetry," she added, almost out loud, forgetting that Caesar Flickerman would hear her.

"Don't stand there chattering to yourself like that," Caesar said, looking at her for the first time, "but tell me your name and your business."

"My _name_ is Prim, but—"

"It's a stupid enough name," Caesar interrupted impatiently. "What does it mean?"

" _Must_ a name mean something?" Prim asked doubtfully.

"Of course it must," Caesar said with a short laugh. " _My_ name complements my steadfast beauty, and the many good features of my face too. With a name like yours, you might be minimal, nonexistent almost."

"Why do you sit out here all alone?" asked Prim, not wishing to begin an argument.

"Why, because there's nobody with me," cried Caesar. "Did you think I didn't know the answer to _that_? Ask another."

"Don't you think you'd be safer down on the ground?" Prim went on with no desire of making another riddle, but simply in her good-natured anxiety for the queer creature. "That wall is so _very_ narrow."

"What tremendously easy riddles you ask," Caesar growled out, smiling as if for the cameras. "Of course I don't think so. Why, if ever I _did_ fall off, which there's no chance of, but _if_ I did..." Here he pursed up his lips and looked so solemn and grand that Prim could hardly help laughing. " _If_ I _did_ fall," he went on, " _the King has promised me..._ ah, you may turn pale, if you like. You didn't think I was going to say that, did you? _The King has promised me...with his very own mouth..._ to...to..."

"To send all his horses and all his men," Prim interrupted rather unwisely.

"Now I declare that's too bad!" Caesar cried, breaking into a sudden passion. "You've been listening at doors, and behind trees, and down chimneys, or you couldn't have known it."

"I haven't, indeed," Prim said very gently. "It's in a book."

"Ah, _well,_ they may write such things in a _book_ ," Caesar said in a calmer tone. "That's what you call a History of Panem, that is. Now, take a good look at me. I'm one that has spoken to a King, _I_ am. Mayhap you'll never see such another, and to show you I'm not proud, you may shake hands with me." And he grinned almost from ear to ear as he leant forwards (and as nearly as possible fell off the wall in doing so) and offered Prim his hand.

She watched him a little anxiously as she took it. _If he smiled much more, the ends of his mouth might meet behind_ , she thought. _And then I don't know what would happen to his head. I'm afraid it would come off!_

"Yes, all his horses and all his men," Caesar went on. "They'd pick me up again in a minute, _they_ would! However, this conversation is going on a little too fast; let's go back to the last remark but one."

"I'm afraid I can't quite remember it," Prim said very politely.

"In that case, we start fresh," said Caesar, "and it's my turn to choose a subject."

 _He talks about everything just as if it was Hunger Games' commentary!_ thought Prim.

"So, here's a question for you. How old did you say you were?"

Prim made a short calculation and said, "I'm almost fourteen years old."

"Wrong!" Caesar exclaimed triumphantly. "You never told me your age!"

"I thought you meant 'How old _are_ you?'" Prim explained.

"If I'd meant that, I'd have said it," said Caesar.

Prim didn't want to begin another argument, so she said nothing.

"Almost fourteen years old," Caesar repeated thoughtfully. "An uncomfortable sort of age. Now if you'd asked _my_ advice, I'd have said 'Leave off at thirteen,' but it's too late now."

"I never ask advice about growing," Prim said indignantly.

"Too proud?" Caesar inquired.

Prim felt even more indignant at this suggestion. "I mean," she said, "that one can't help growing older."

" _One_ can't, perhaps," said Caesar, "but _two_ can. With proper assistance, you might have left off at eleven."

"What a beautiful belt you've got on," Prim suddenly remarked.

(They had had quite enough of the subject of age, she thought. And if they really were to take turns in choosing subjects, it was her turn now.)

"At least," she corrected herself on second thoughts, "a beautiful cravat I should have said. No, a belt I mean. I beg your pardon," she added in dismay, for Caesar Flickerman looked thoroughly offended, and she began to wish she hadn't chosen that subject. _If I only knew_ , she thought to herself, _which was neck and which was waist_.

Evidently, Caesar Flickerman was very angry, though he said nothing for a minute or two. When he _did_ speak again, it was in a deep growl.

"It is a... _most_... _provoking_...thing," he said at last, "when a person doesn't know a cravat from a belt!"

"I know it's very ignorant of me," Prim said in so humble a tone that Caesar Flickerman relented.

"It's a cravat, child, and a beautiful one as you say. It's a present from the White King and Queen. There now."

"Is it really?" said Prim, quite pleased to find that she _had_ chosen a good subject after all.

"They gave it me," Caesar continued thoughtfully, crossing one knee over the other and clasping his hands round it. "They gave it me for an un-birthday present."

"I beg your pardon?" Prim said with a puzzled air.

"I'm not offended," said Caesar Flickerman.

"I mean, what _is_ an un-birthday present?"

"A present given when it isn't your birthday, of course."

Prim considered a little. "I like birthday presents best," she said at last.

"You don't know what you're talking about," cried Caesar. "How many days are there in a year?"

"Three hundred and sixty-five," said Prim.

"And how many birthdays have you?"

"One."

"And if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five, what remains?"

"Three hundred and sixty-four, of course."

Caesar Flickerman looked doubtful. "I'd rather see that done on paper," he said.

Prim couldn't help smiling as she took out her memorandum-book and worked the sum for him:

365  
-1

364  
—

Caesar Flickerman took the book, and looked at it carefully. "That seems to be done right," he began.

"You're holding it upside down!" Prim interrupted.

"To be sure I was," Caesar said gaily as Prim turned it round for him. "I thought it looked a little queer. As I was saying, that _seems_ to be done right, though I haven't time to look it over thoroughly just now; however, this shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents."

"Certainly," said Prim.

"And only _one_ for birthday presents, you know. There's glory for you."

"I don't know what you mean by 'glory,'" Prim said.

Caesar smiled contemptuously. "Of course you don't...till I tell you. I meant 'there's a nice knock-down argument for you.'"

"But 'glory' doesn't mean 'a nice knock-down argument,'" Prim objected.

"When _I_ use a word," Caesar said in rather a scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean, neither more nor less."

"The question is," said Prim, "whether you _can_ make words mean so many different things."

"The question is," said Caesar, "which is to be master; that's all."

Prim was too much puzzled to say anything, so after a minute Caesar Flickerman began again. "They've a temper some of them, particularly verbs; they're the proudest. Adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs; however, _I_ can manage the whole lot of them. Impenetrability! That's what _I_ say!'

"Would you tell me, please," said Prim "what that means?"

"Now you talk like a reasonable child," said Caesar, looking very much pleased. "I meant by 'impenetrability' that we've had enough of that subject, and it would be just as well if you'd mention what you mean to do next as I suppose you don't mean to stop here all the rest of your life."

"That's a great deal to make one word mean," Prim said in a thoughtful tone.

"When I make a word do a lot of work like that," said Caesar, "I always pay it extra."

" _Oh,_ " said Prim. She was too much puzzled to make any other remark.

"Ah, you should see 'em come round me of a Saturday night," Caesar went on, wagging his head gravely from side to side, "for to get their wages, you know."

(Prim didn't venture to ask what he paid them with; and so you see I can't tell _you_.)

"You seem very clever at explaining words, Sir," said Prim. "Would you kindly tell me the meaning of the poem called 'Jabberwocky'?"

"Let's hear it," said Caesar. "I can explain all the poems that were ever invented, and a good many that haven't been invented just yet."

This sounded very hopeful, so Prim repeated the first verse:

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"That's enough to begin with," Caesar interrupted. "There are plenty of hard words there. _'brillig'_ means four o'clock in the afternoon, the time when you begin _broiling_ things for dinner."

"That'll do very well," said Prim. "And _'slithy'_?"

"Well, _'slithy'_ means 'lithe and slimy'. 'Lithe' is the same as 'active'. You see it's like a portmanteau, there are two meanings packed up into one word."

"I see it now," Prim remarked thoughtfully. "And what are _'toves'_?"

"Well, _'toves'_ are something like badgers; they're something like lizards; and they're something like corkscrews."

"They must be very curious looking creatures."

"They are that," said Caesar. "They also make their nests under sun-dials; they also live on cheese."

"And what's the _'gyre'_ and to _'gimble'_?"

'To _'gyre'_ is to go round and round like a gyroscope. To _'gimble'_ is to make holes like a gimlet."

"And _'the wabe'_ is the grass-plot round a sun-dial, I suppose?" said Prim, surprised at her own ingenuity.

"Of course it is. It's called _'wabe'_ , you know, because it goes a long way before it, and a long way behind it."

"And a long way beyond it on each side," Prim added.

"Exactly so. Well, then, _'mimsy'_ is 'flimsy and miserable' (there's another portmanteau for you). And a _'borogove'_ is a thin shabby-looking bird with its feathers sticking out all round, something like a live mop."

"And then _'mome raths_?" said Prim. "I'm afraid I'm giving you a great deal of trouble."

"Well, a _'rath'_ is a sort of green pig, but _'mome'_ , I'm not certain about. I think it's short for 'from home', meaning that they'd lost their way, you know."

"And what does _'outgrabe'_ mean?"

"Well, _'outgrabing'_ is something between bellowing and whistling, with a kind of sneeze in the middle; however, you'll maybe hear it done down in the wood yonder, and when you've once heard it, you'll be _quite_ content. Who's been repeating all that hard stuff to you?"

"I read it in a book," said Prim. "But I had some poetry repeated to me, much easier than that, by Tweedledee, I think it was."

"As to poetry, you know," said Caesar, stretching out one of his great hands, " _I_ can repeat poetry as well as other folk if it comes to that."

"Oh, it needn't come to that," Prim hastily said, hoping to keep him from beginning.

"The piece I'm going to repeat," he went on without noticing her remark, "was written entirely for your amusement."

Prim felt that in that case she really _ought_ to listen to it, so she sat down and said, "Thank you," rather sadly.

'In winter, when the fields are white,  
I sing this song for your delight—

"Only I don't sing it," he added, as an explanation.

"I see you don't," said Prim.

"If you can _see_ whether I'm singing or not, you've sharper eyes than most," Caesar remarked severely.

Prim was silent.

'In spring, when woods are getting green,  
I'll try and tell you what I mean.'

'Thank you very much,' said Prim.

'In summer, when the days are long,  
Perhaps you'll understand the song:  
In autumn, when the leaves are brown,  
Take pen and ink, and write it down.'

"I will, if I can remember it so long," said Prim.

"You needn't go on making remarks like that," Caesar said. "They're not sensible, and they put me out."

'I sent a message to the fish:  
I told them "This is what I wish."

The little fishes of the sea,  
They sent an answer back to me.

The little fishes' answer was  
"We cannot do it, Sir, because—'

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand," said Prim.

"It gets easier further on," Caesar replied.

'I sent to them again to say  
"It will be better to obey."

The fishes answered with a grin,  
"Why, what a temper you are in!"

I told them once, I told them twice;  
They would not listen to advice.

I took a kettle large and new,  
Fit for the deed I had to do.

My heart went hop, my heart went thump;  
I filled the kettle at the pump.

Then some one came to me and said,  
"The little fishes are in bed."

I said to him, I said it plain,  
"Then you must wake them up again."

I said it very loud and clear;  
I went and shouted in his ear.'

When Caesar Flickerman raised his voice almost to a scream to repeat the following verse, Prim thought with a shudder, _I wouldn't have been the messenger for anything!_

'But he was very stiff and proud;  
He said, "You needn't shout so loud!"

And he was very proud and stiff;  
He said "I'd go and wake them, if—"

I took a corkscrew from the shelf:  
I went to wake them up myself.

And when I found the door was locked,  
I pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked.

And when I found the door was shut,  
I tried to turn the handle, but—'

There was a long pause.

"Is that all?" Prim timidly asked.

"That's all," said Caesar. "Good-bye."

 _This was rather sudden_ , Prim thought; but after such a _very_ strong hint that she ought to be going, she felt that it would hardly be civil to stay. So she got up and held out her hand. "Good-bye, till we meet again," she said as cheerfully as she could.

"I shouldn't know you again if we _did_ meet," Caesar replied in a discontented tone, giving her one of his fingers to shake. "You're so exactly like other people."

"The face is what one goes by, generally," Prim remarked in a thoughtful tone.

"That's just what I complain of," said Caesar. "Your face is the same as everybody has, the two eyes so," (marking their places in the air with this thumb) "nose in the middle, mouth under. It's always the same. Now if you had the two eyes on the same side of the nose for instance, or the mouth at the top, that would be _some_ help."

"It wouldn't look nice," Prim objected.

But Caesar only shut his eyes and said, "Wait till you've tried."

Prim waited a minute to see if he would speak again, but as he never opened his eyes or took any further notice of her, she said, "Good-bye," once more, and getting no answer to this, she quietly walked away.

But she couldn't help saying to herself as she went, "Of all the unsatisfactory," (she repeated this aloud, as it was a great comfort to have such a long word to say) "of all the unsatisfactory people I _ever_ met..." She never finished the sentence, for at this moment a heavy crash shook the forest from end to end.


	19. The Eagle and the Mockingjay

**CHAPTER VII: The Eagle and the Mockingjay**

The next moment, soldiers came running through the wood, at first in twos and threes, then ten or twenty together, and at last in such crowds that they seemed to fill the whole forest. Prim got behind a tree for fear of being run over and watched them go by.

She thought that in all her life she had never seen soldiers so uncertain on their feet. They were always tripping over something or other, and whenever one went down, several more always fell over him so that the ground was soon covered with little heaps of men.

Then came the horses. Having four feet, these creatures managed rather better than the foot-soldiers, but even _they_ stumbled now and then; and it seemed to be a regular rule that whenever a horse stumbled the rider fell off instantly. The confusion got worse every moment, and Prim was very glad to get out of the wood into an open place where she found the White King seated on the ground, busily writing in his memorandum-book. As she neared, she found President Snow sloppily dressed in King's attire.

"I've sent them all!" President Snow cried in a tone of delight, on seeing Prim. "Did you happen to meet any soldiers, my dear, as you came through the wood?"

"Yes, I did," said Prim. "Several thousand, I should think."

"Four thousand two hundred and seven, that's the exact number," President Snow said, referring to his book. "I couldn't send all the horses, you know, because two of them are wanted in the game. And I haven't sent the two Messengers, either. They're both gone to the town. Just look along the road and tell me if you can see either of them."

"I see nobody on the road," said Prim.

"I only wish _I_ had such eyes," President Snow remarked in a fretful tone. "To be able to see Nobody. And at that distance, too. Why, it's as much as _I_ can do to see real people by this light."

All this was lost on Prim, who was still looking intently along the road, shading her eyes with one hand. "I see somebody now!" she exclaimed at last. "But he's coming very slowly, and what curious movement he goes into." (For the messenger kept skipping up and down, wriggling like an eel as he came along with his great hands spread out like fans on each side.)

"Not at all," said President Snow. "He's an artistic Messenger, and those are artist tendencies. He only does them when he's happy. His name is Haigha." (He pronounced it so as to rhyme with "mayor.")

"I love my love with an H," Prim couldn't help beginning, "because he is Happy. I hate him with an H, because he is Hideous. I fed him with...with...with Ham-sandwiches and Hay. His name is Haigha, and he lives..."

"He lives on the Hill," President Snow remarked simply while Prim was still hesitating for the name of a town beginning with H, without the least idea that he was joining in the game. "My other Messenger is obsessed with hats. I must have _two_ , you know, to come and go. One to come, and one to go."

"I beg your pardon?" said Prim.

"It isn't respectable to beg," said President Snow.

"I only meant that I didn't understand why you need two hats," said Prim. "Why one to come and one to go?"

"Not hats, Messengers. Didn't I tell you?" President Snow repeated impatiently. "I must have _two_ , to fetch and carry. One to fetch, and one to carry."

At this moment, the Messenger arrived. He was far too much out of breath to say a word and could only wave his hands about and make the most fearful faces at the poor King.

When Prim discovered that the artist was Cinna, it took all her will power to subdue her surprise.

"This young lady loves you with an H," President Snow said, introducing Prim in the hope of turning off the Messenger's attention from himself; but it was no use. The artist movements only got more extraordinary with every moment while the great eyes rolled wildly from side to side.

"You alarm me!" said President Snow. "I feel faint; give me a ham sandwich."

On which, the Messenger—to Prim's great amusement—opened a bag that hung round his neck and handed a sandwich to the King, who devoured it greedily.

"Another sandwich," said President Snow.

"There's nothing but hay left now," the Messenger said, peeping into the bag.

"Hay, then," President Snow murmured in a faint whisper.

Prim was glad to see that it revived him a good deal. "There's nothing like eating hay when you're faint," he remarked to her, continuing to munch away.

"I should think throwing cold water over you would be better," Prim suggested. "Or some smelling salts."

"I didn't say there was nothing _better_ ," President Snow replied. "I said there was nothing _like_ it."

Which Prim did not venture to deny.

"Who did you pass on the road?" President Snow went on, holding out his hand to the Messenger for some more hay.

"Nobody," said the Messenger.

"Quite right," said President Snow. "This young lady saw him too. So of course Nobody walks slower than you."

"I do my best," the Messenger said in a sulky tone. "I'm sure nobody walks much faster than I do."

"He can't do that," said President Snow, "or else he'd have been here first. However, now you've got your breath, you may tell us what's happened in the town."

"I'll whisper it," said the Messenger before putting his hands to his mouth in the shape of a trumpet, stooping so as to get close to the King's ear.

Prim was sorry for this as she wanted to hear the news too.

However, instead of whispering, Cinna simply shouted at the top of his voice, "They're at it again!"

"Do you call _that_ a whisper?" the poor King cried, jumping up and shaking himself. "If you do such a thing again, I'll have you buttered! It went through and through my head like an earthquake!'

 _It would have to be a very tiny earthquake!_ thought Prim. "Who are at it again?" she ventured to ask.

"Why the Eagle and the Mockingjay, of course," said President Snow.

"Fighting for the crown?" asked Prim

"Yes, to be sure," said President Snow, "and the best of the joke is that it's _my_ crown all the while. Let's run and see them."

And they trotted off; Prim repeating to herself as she ran the words of the old song:

'The Eagle and the Mockingjay were fighting for the crown:

The Eagle beat the Mockingjay all round the town.

Some gave them white bread, some gave them brown;

Some gave them plum-cake and drummed them out of town.'

"Does...the one...that wins...get the crown?" she asked as well as she could, for the run was putting her quite out of breath.

"Dear me, no!' said President Snow. "What an idea."

"Would you...be good enough," Prim panted out after running a little further, "to stop a minute...just to get...one's breath again?"

"I'm _good_ enough," President Snow said. "Only, I'm not strong enough. You see, a minute goes by so fearfully quick. You might as well try to stop a Bandersnatch!"

Prim had no more breath for talking, so they trotted on in silence till they came in sight of a great crowd, in the middle of which, the Eagle and Mockingjay were fighting. They were in such a cloud of dust, that at first, Prim could not make out which was which. But she soon managed to distinguish the Eagle by his more agile movement.

They placed themselves close to where Effie, the other messenger, was standing to watch the fight. She had a cup of tea in one hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other.

"She's only just out of prison, and she hadn't finished her tea when she was sent in," Cinna whispered to Prim. "And they only give them oyster-shells in there, so you see she's very hungry and thirsty. How are you, dear child?" he went on, putting his arm affectionately round Effie's neck.

Effie looked round and nodded before returning to her bread and butter.

"Were you happy in prison, dear child?" asked Cinna.

Effie looked round once more, and this time a tear or two trickled down her cheek, but not a word would she say.

"Speak, can't you," Cinna cried impatiently. But Effie only munched away and drank some more tea.

"Speak, won't you," cried President Snow. "How are they getting on with the fight?"

Effie made a desperate effort and swallowed a large piece of bread-and-butter. "They're getting on very well," she said in a choking voice. "Each of them has been down about eighty-seven times."

"Then I suppose they'll soon bring the white bread and the brown?" Prim ventured to remark.

"It's waiting for 'em now," said Effie. "This is a bit of it as I'm eating."

There was a pause in the fight just then, and the Eagle and the Mockingjay sat down, panting while President Snow called out "Ten minutes allowed for refreshments!" Cinna and Effie set to work at once, carrying rough trays of white and brown bread. Prim took a piece to taste, but it was _very_ dry.

"I don't think they'll fight any more today," President Snow said to Effie. "Go and order the drums to begin."

And Effie went bounding away like a grasshopper.

For a minute or two, Prim stood silent, watching him. Suddenly, she brightened up. "Look, look!" she cried, pointing eagerly. "There's the White Queen running across the country. She came flying out of the wood over yonder. How fast those Queens _can_ run."

"There's some enemy after her, no doubt," President Snow said without even looking round. "That wood's full of them."

"But aren't you going to run and help her?" Prim asked, very much surprised at his taking it so quietly.

"No use, no use," said President Snow. "She runs so fearfully quick. You might as well try to catch a Bandersnatch. But I'll make a memorandum about her if you like, Wiress is a dear good creature," he repeated softly to himself as he opened his memorandum-book. "Do you spell 'creature' with a double 'e'?"

At this moment, the Mockingjay sauntered by patting the dust from its feathers. "I had the best of it this time?" he said to the King, just glancing at the small man as he passed.

"A little...a little," President Snow replied rather nervously. "You shouldn't have peck at his eyes, you know."

"It didn't hurt him," the Mockingjay said carelessly, and he was going on when his own eye happened to fall upon Prim. He turned round rather instantly and stood for some time looking at her with an air of the deepest disgust.

"What...is...this?" he said at last.

"This is a child," Cinna replied eagerly, coming in front of Prim to introduce her by spreading out both his hands towards her in a flamboyant designer fashion. "We only found it today. It's as large as life and twice as natural."

"I always thought they were fabulous monsters," said the Mockingjay. "Is it alive?"

"The child can talk," said Cinna solemnly.

The Mockingjay looked dreamily at Prim and said, "Talk, child."

Prim could not help her lips curling up into a smile as she began. "Do you know, I always thought Mockingjays were fabulous, too. I never saw one alive and talking before."

"Well, now that we _have_ seen each other," said the Mockingjay, "if you'll believe in me, I'll believe in you. Is that a bargain?"

"Yes, if you like," said Prim.

"Come, fetch out the plum-cake, old man," the Mockingjay went on, turning from her to the King. "None of your brown bread for me."

"Certainly, certainly," President Snow muttered before beckoning to Cinna. "Open the bag," he whispered. "Quick. Not that one; that's full of hay."

Cinna took a large cake out of the bag and gave it to Prim to hold while he got out a dish and carving-knife.

How they all came out of the bag, Prim couldn't guess. _It is just like a conjuring-trick_ , she thought.

The Eagle had joined them while this was going on. He looked very tired and sleepy, and his eyes were half shut. "What's this," he said, blinking lazily at Prim, speaking in a sharp hollow tone that sounded like the taught strings of a violin.

"Ah, what _is_ it, now?" the Mockingjay cried eagerly. "You'll never guess. _I_ couldn't."

The Eagle looked at Prim wearily. "Are you animal, vegetable, or mineral?" he said, yawning at every other word.

"It's a fabulous monster," the Mockingjay cried out before Prim could reply.

"Then hand round the plum-cake, Monster," the Eagle said, settling down and pulling his wings in. "And sit down, both of you," (to the King and the Mockingjay), "fair play with the cake, you know."

President Snow was evidently very uncomfortable at having to sit down between the two great creatures, but there was no other place for him.

"What a fight we might have for the crown, _now_ ," the Mockingjay said, looking slyly up at the crown, which this poor King was nearly shaking off his head, for he trembled so much.

"I should win easy," said the Eagle.

"I'm not so sure of that," said the Mockingjay.

"Why, I beat you all round the town, you _chicken_ ," the Eagle replied angrily, half getting up as he spoke.

Here the King interrupted to prevent the quarrel going on. He was very nervous, and his voice quite quivered. "All round the town?" he said. "That's a good long way. Did you go by the old bridge, or the market-place? You get the best view by the old bridge."

"I'm sure I don't know," the Eagle screeched as he sat down again. "There was too much dust to see anything. What a time the Monster is, cutting up that cake."

Prim had seated herself on the bank of a little brook with the great dish on her knees and was sawing away diligently with the knife. "It's very provoking," she said in reply to the Eagle (she was getting quite used to being called "the Monster"). "I've cut several slices already, but they always join on again."

"You don't know how to manage Looking-glass cakes," the Mockingjay remarked. "Hand it round first and cut it afterwards."

This sounded nonsense, but Prim very obediently got up and carried the dish round, and the cake divided itself into three pieces as she did so.

" _Now_ cut it up," said the Eagle as Prim returned to her place with the empty dish.

"I say, this isn't fair," cried the Mockingjay as Prim sat with the knife in her hand, very much puzzled how to begin. "The Monster has given the Eagle twice as much as me."

"She's kept none for herself, anyhow," said the Eagle. "Do you like plum-cake, Monster?"

But before Prim could answer him, the drums began.

Where the noise came from, she couldn't make out. The air seemed full of it, and thumping rang through and through her head till she felt quite deafened. She started to her feet and sprang across the little brook in her terror.

 **. . . . . . .**

 **. . . . . .**

 **. . . . . . .**

She had just time to see the Eagle and the Mockingjay rise into the air with angry looks at being interrupted in their feast before she dropped to her knees and put her hands over her ears, vainly trying to shut out the dreadful uproar.

 _If THAT doesn't 'drum them out of town'_ , she thought to herself, _nothing ever will!_


	20. It's my own Invention

**CHAPTER VIII: "It's my own Invention"**

After a while, the noise seemed gradually to die away till all was dead silence, and Prim lifted up her head in some alarm. There was no one to be seen, and her first thought was that she must have been dreaming about the Eagle and the Mockingjay and those peculiar Messengers, Effie and Cinna. However, there was the great dish still lying at her feet on which she had tried to cut the plum-cake. "So I wasn't dreaming, after all," she said to herself. "Unless...unless we're all part of the same dream. Only I do hope it's _my_ dream and not the Red King's. I don't like belonging to another person's dream. Prim went on in a rather complaining tone, "I've a great mind to go and wake Mr. Heavensbee to see what happens."

At this moment, her thoughts were interrupted by a loud shouting of "Ahoy! Ahoy! Check!" and a Knight dressed in crimson armour came galloping down upon her, brandishing a great club. Just as Knight reached her, the horse stopped suddenly. "You're my prisoner!" the Knight cried as he tumbled off his horse.

Startled as she was, Prim was more frightened for him than for herself at that moment and watched him with some anxiety as he mounted again. As soon as he was comfortably in the saddle, he began once more "You're my—" but here another voice broke in "Ahoy! Ahoy! Check!" and Prim looked round in some surprise to find her sister atop a horse, dressed as the White Knight.

Katniss drew up at Prim's side and tumbled off her horse just as the Red Knight had done. She then got on again, and the two Knights sat and looked at each other for some time without speaking as Prim looked from one to the other in some bewilderment.

"She's _my_ prisoner, you know," the Red Knight said at last.

"Yes, but then _I_ came and rescued her," Katniss replied.

"Well, we must fight for her, then," said the Red Knight as he took up his helmet (which hung from the saddle, and was something the shape of a horse's head) and put it on.

"You will observe the Rules of Battle, of course?" Katniss remarked putting on her helmet too.

"I always do," said the Red Knight, and they began banging away at each other with such fury that Prim got behind a tree to be out of the way of the blows.

"I wonder now what the Rules of Battle are," Prim said to herself as she watched the fight, timidly peeping out from her hiding-place. "One Rule seems to be that if one Knight hits the other, they knock the other off their horse, and if they miss, they tumble off themselves. Another Rule seems to be that they hold their clubs with their arms as if they were Punch and Judy. What a noise they make when they tumble, just like a whole set of fire-irons falling into the fender. And how quiet the horses are; they let them get on and off them just as if they were tables."

Another Rule of Battle that Prim had not noticed seemed to be that they always fell onto their heads, and the battle ended with their both falling off in this way, side by side. When they got up again, they shook hands, and then the Red Knight mounted and galloped off.

"It was a glorious victory, wasn't it?' said Katniss as she came up panting.

"I don't know," Prim said doubtfully. "I don't want to be anybody's prisoner. I want to be a Queen."

"So you will when you've crossed the next brook," said Katniss. "I'll see you safe to the end of the wood, and then I must go back. That's...what I have to do, I think."

"Thank you very much," said Prim. "May I help you off with your helmet?" It was evidently more than she could manage by herself; however, Prim managed to shake her sister out of it at last.

"Now, one can breathe more easily," said Katniss as she brushed back her long tangled hair with both hands, turning her gentle face and large doe eyes towards Prim.

The little girl thought she had never seen such a strange-looking soldier in all her life. Her sister was dressed in tin armour, which seemed to fit her very badly, and she had a queer-shaped little deal box fastened across her shoulder, upside-down, with the lid hanging open. Prim looked at it with great curiosity.

"I see you're admiring my little box," Katniss said in a proud tone. "It's my own invention, to keep clothes and sandwiches in. You see, I carry it upside-down so that the rain can't get in."

"But the things can get _out_ ," Prim gently remarked. "Do you know the lid's open?"

"I didn't know it," Katniss said with a shade of vexation passing over her face. "Then all the things must have fallen out! And the box is no use without them." She unfastened it as she spoke and was just going to throw it into the bushes when a sudden thought seemed to strike her. She hung it carefully on a tree. "Can you guess why I did that?" she said to little sister.

Prim shook her head.

"In hopes some bees may make a nest in it; then I should get the honey."

"But you've got a bee-hive, or something like one, fastened to the saddle," said Prim.

"Yes, it's a very good bee-hive," said Katniss in a discontented tone, "one of the best kinds. But not a single bee has come near it yet. And the other thing is a mouse-trap. I suppose the mice keep the bees out, or the bees keep the mice out, I don't know which."

"I was wondering what the mouse-trap was for," said Prim. "It isn't very likely there would be any mice on the horse's back."

"Not very likely, perhaps," said Katniss, "but if they _do_ come, I don't choose to have them running all about." After a pause, she continued, "You see; it's as well to be provided for _everything_. That's the reason the horse has all those anklets round his feet."

"But what are they for?" Prim asked in a tone of great curiosity.

"To guard against the bites of sharks," replied Katniss. "It's an invention of my own. And now help me on. I'll go with you to the end of the wood. What's the dish for?"

"It's meant for plum-cake," said Prim.

"We'd better take it with us," Katniss said. "It'll come in handy if we find any plum-cake. Help me to get it into this bag."

This took a very long time to manage, though Prim held the bag open very carefully. Katniss was so _very_ awkward in putting in the dish the first two or three times that she tried, she fell in herself instead. "It's rather a tight fit, you see," Katniss said as they got it in a last. "There are so many candlesticks in the bag." And Katniss hung it to the saddle, which was already loaded with bunches of carrots, and fire-irons, and many other things.

"I hope you've got your hair well fastened on?" Katniss continued as they set off.

"Only in the usual way," Prim said, smiling.

"That's hardly enough," Katniss said anxiously. "You see the wind is so _very_ strong here. It's as strong as soup."

"Have you invented a plan for keeping the hair from being blown off?" Prim enquired.

"Not yet, said her big sister. "But I've got a plan for keeping it from _falling_ off."

"I should like to hear it, very much."

"First you take an upright stick," said Katniss. "Then you make your hair creep up it like a fruit-tree. Now the reason hair falls off is because it hangs _down_ , things never fall _upwards_ , you know. It's a plan of my own invention. You may try it if you like."

It didn't sound like a comfortable plan Prim thought, and for a few minutes she walked on in silence, puzzling over the idea, and every now and then, stopping to help poor Katniss, who certainly was _not_ a good rider.

Whenever the horse stopped (which it did very often), he sister fell off in front; and whenever it went on again (which it generally did rather suddenly), she fell off behind. Otherwise, Katniss kept on pretty well, except that she had a habit of now and then falling off sideways; and as she generally did this on the side on which Prim was walking, the younger sister soon found that it was the best plan not to walk _quite_ close to the horse.

"I'm afraid you've not had much practice in riding," Prim ventured to say as she was helping her sister up from her fifth tumble.

Katniss looked very much surprised, and a little offended at the remark. "What makes you say that?" She asked as she scrambled back into the saddle, keeping hold of Prim's hair with one hand to save herself from falling over on the other side.

"Because people don't fall off quite so often when they've had much practice."

"I've had plenty of practice," Katniss said very gravely. "Plenty of practice."

Prim could think of nothing better to say than "Indeed?" but she said it as heartily as she could.

After this, they went on a little way in silence, Katniss with her eyes shut, muttering to herself, and Prim watching anxiously for the next tumble.

"The great art of riding," Katniss suddenly began in a loud voice, waving her right arm as she spoke, "is to keep—" Here the sentence ended as suddenly as it had begun as Katniss fell heavily on the top of her head, exactly in the path where Prim was walking. The little girl was quite frightened this time and said in an anxious tone as she picked her sister up, "I hope no bones are broken?"

"None to speak of," Katniss said—as if she didn't mind breaking two or three of them. "The great art of riding, as I was saying, is...to keep your balance properly. Like this, you know." She let go the bridle and stretched out both her arms to show Prim what she meant, and this time, she fell flat on her back, right under the horse's feet.

"Plenty of practice," she went on repeating all the time that Prim was getting her on her feet again. "Plenty of practice."

"It's too ridiculous," cried Prim, who was losing all her patience by this time. "You ought to have a wooden horse on wheels, that you ought."

"Does that kind go smoothly?" Katniss asked in a tone of great interest, clasping her arms round the horse's neck as she spoke—just in time to save herself from tumbling off again.

"Much more smoothly than a live horse," Prim said with a little scream of laughter, in spite of all she could do to prevent it.

"I'll get one," Katniss said thoughtfully to herself. "One or two, perhaps several."

There was a short silence after this, and then Katniss went on again. "My friend Gale isn't the only one with an inventive mind. I'm a great hand at inventing things too. Now, I daresay you noticed that last time you picked me up that I was looking rather thoughtful?"

"You _were_ a little grave," said Prim.

"Well, just then I was inventing a new way of getting over a gate. Would you like to hear it?"

"Very much indeed," Prim said politely.

"I'll tell you how I came to think of it," said Katniss. "You see; I said to myself, 'The only difficulty is with the feet, the _head_ is high enough already.' Now, first I put my head on the top of the gate; then I stand on my head; then the feet are high enough; you see; then I'm over; you see."

"Yes, I suppose you'd be over when that was done," Prim said thoughtfully. "But don't you think it would be rather hard?"

"I haven't tried it yet," Katniss said gravely, "so I can't tell for certain, but I'm afraid it _would_ be a little hard."

With her sister looking so vexed at the idea, Prim changed the subject hastily. "What a curious helmet you've got," she said cheerfully. "Is that your invention too?"

Katniss looked down proudly at her helmet that hung from the saddle. "Yes," she said, "but I've invented a better one than that, like a sugar loaf. When I used to wear it, and if I fell off the horse, it always touched the ground directly, so I had a _very_ little way to fall, you see. But there _was_ the danger of falling _into_ it to be sure. That happened to me once, and the worst of it was, before I could get out again, the other White Knight came and put it on. He thought it was his own helmet."

With Katniss looking so solemn about it, Prim did not dare to laugh. "I'm afraid you must have hurt him," she said in a trembling voice, "being on the top of his head."

"I had to kick him, of course," Katniss said very seriously. "And then he took the helmet off again, but it took hours and hours to get me out. I was as fast as...as lightning, you know."

"But that's a different kind of fastness," Prim objected.

Katniss shook her head. "It was all kinds of fastness with me; I can assure you," she said, raising her hands in some excitement, instantly rolling out of the saddle to fall headlong into a deep ditch.

Prim ran into the ditch to look for her. She was rather startled by the fall as for some time, her sister had kept on very well, and she was afraid that she really _was_ hurt this time. However, though Prim could see nothing but the soles of her feet, she was much relieved to hear that she was talking on in her usual tone. "All kinds of fastness," Katniss repeated, "but it was careless of him to put another soldier's helmet on, with a soldier in it too."

"How _can_ you go on talking so quietly, head downwards?" Prim asked as she dragged her sister out by the feet, releasing her in a heap on the bank.

Katniss looked surprised at the question. "What does it matter where my body happens to be?" she said. "My mind goes on working all the same. In fact, the more head downwards I am, the more I keep inventing new things."

Prim politely smiled at her sister, knowing well enough that beyond archery and hunting, Katniss had few talents.

"Now the cleverest thing of the sort that I ever did," Katniss went on after a pause, "was inventing a new pudding during the meat-course."

"In time to have it cooked for the next course?" asked Prim.

"Well, not the _next_ course," Katniss said in a slow thoughtful tone. "No, certainly not the next _course_."

"Then it would have to be the next day. I suppose you wouldn't have two pudding-courses in one dinner?"

"Well, not the _next_ day," Katniss repeated as before. "Not the next _day_. In fact," she went on, holding her head down as her voice became softer and softer, "I don't believe that pudding ever _was_ cooked. In fact, I don't believe that pudding ever _will_ be cooked. And yet, it was a very clever pudding to invent."

"What did you mean it to be made of?" Prim asked, hoping to cheer her up, for her sister seemed quite low-spirited about it.

"It began with blotting paper," Katniss answered with a groan.

"That wouldn't be very nice, I'm afraid—"

"Not very nice _alone_ ," Katniss interrupted quite eagerly, "but you've no idea what a difference it makes mixing it with other things, such as gunpowder and sealing-wax. And here I must leave you."

They had just come to the end of the wood.

Prim could only look puzzled; she was thinking of the pudding.

"You are sad," Katniss said in an anxious tone. "Let me sing you a song to comfort you."

"Is it very long?" Prim asked, for she had heard a good deal of poetry that day.

"It's long," said Katniss, "but very, _very_ beautiful. Everybody that hears me sing it, either it brings _tears_ to their eyes, or else..."

"Or else what?" asked Prim, for Katniss had made an unexpected pause.

"Or else it doesn't, you know. The name of the song is called ' _Haddocks' Eyes'."_

"Oh, that's the name of the song, is it?" Prim said, trying to feel interested.

"No, you don't understand," Katniss said, looking a little vexed. "That's what the name is _called_. The name really _is_ ' _The Aged Aged Man'."_

"Then I ought to have said, 'That's what the _song_ is called?'" Prim corrected herself.

"No, you oughtn't; that's quite another thing. The _song_ is called _'Ways and Means'_ , but that's only what it's _called_ , you know."

"Well, what _is_ the song, then?" asked Prim, who was by this time completely bewildered.

"I was coming to that," Katniss said. "The song really _is_ ' _A-Sitting On a Gate'_ , and the tune's my own invention."

So saying, she stopped her horse and let the reins fall on its neck. Then slowly, beating time with one hand, and with a faint smile lighting up her gentle face—as if she truly enjoyed the music of her song, Katniss began.

Of all the strange things that Prim had seen during her journey Through The Looking-Glass, this was special: the mild grey eyes and kindly smile of Katniss, the setting sun gleaming through her hair, shining on her armour in a blaze of light that quite dazzled her, the horse quietly moving about with the reins hanging loose on his neck, cropping the grass at its feet with the black shadows of the forest behind. All this, Prim took in like a picture with one hand shading her eyes. She leant against a tree, watching the strange pair as she listened in a half dream to the melancholy music of the song.

 _But the tune isn't her own invention_ , she thought to herself. _It's_ ' _The Hanging Tree'_. Prim stood and listened very attentively, but no tears came into her eyes.

 _"Are you, are you  
_ _Coming to the tree  
_ _Where they strung up a man they say murdered three.  
_ _Strange things did happen here  
_ _No stranger would it be  
_ _If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

 _"Are you, are you  
_ _Coming to the tree  
_ _Where the dead man called out for his love to flee.  
_ _Strange things did happen here  
_ _No stranger would it be  
_ _If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

 _"Are you, are you  
_ _Coming to the tree  
_ _Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free.  
_ _Strange things did happen here  
_ _No stranger would it be  
_ _If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

 _"Are you, are you  
_ _Coming to the tree  
_ _Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.  
_ _Strange things did happen here  
_ _No stranger would it be  
_ _If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

As Katniss sang the last words of the ballad, she gathered up the reins and turned her horse's head along the road by which they had come. "You've only a few yards to go," she said, "down the hill and over that little brook, and then you'll be a Queen. But you'll stay and see me off first?" As Prim turned with an eager look in the direction to which she pointed, Katniss added. "I shan't be long. You'll wait and wave your handkerchief when I get to that turn in the road? I think it'll encourage me, you see."

"Of course I'll wait," said Prim. "And thank you very much for coming so far—and for the song, I liked it very much."

"I hope so," Katniss said doubtfully. "But you didn't cry so much as I thought you would. Perhaps it was the fire."

"What do you mean?" asked Prim.

Katniss sat motionless as her gaze drifted off in thought. Gnawing her lip, her eyes slowly returned to Prim. "I guess it doesn't matter now. Thank you for listening to my song."

So they shook hands, and then the Knight rode slowly away into the forest.

"It won't take long to see her _off_ , I expect," Prim said to herself as she stood watching her sister. "There she goes! Right on her head as usual. However, Katniss gets on again pretty easily, that comes of having so many things hung round the horse..." So she went on talking to herself as she watched the horse walking leisurely along the road and her sister tumbling off, first on one side and then on the other. After the fourth or fifth tumble, Katniss reached the turn, and then Prim waved her handkerchief and waited till she was out of sight.

"I hope it encouraged her," she said as she turned to run down the hill. "And now for the last brook and to be a Queen. How grand it sounds." A very few steps brought her to the edge of the brook, and she was just going to spring over when she heard a deep sigh, which seemed to come from the wood behind her.

 _There's somebody very unhappy there_ , she thought, looking anxiously back to see what was the matter. Something appearing like a very old man was sitting on the ground (only that his face was more like a Tracker Jacker wasp), leaning against a tree all huddled up together and shivering as if he were very cold.

 _I don't think I can be of any use to him_ , was Prim's first thought as she turned to spring over the brook. "But I'll just ask him what's the matter," she said as she checked herself on the very edge. "If I jump over, everything will change, and then I can't help him."

So she went back to the wasp like creature—rather unwillingly, for she was very anxious to be a Queen.

"Oh, my old bones, my old bones!" the Tracker Jacker was grumbling as Prim came up to him.

"It's rheumatism, I should think," Prim said to herself, and she stooped over him and said very kindly, "I hope you're not in much pain?"

The Tracker Jacker only shook his shoulders and turned his head away. "Ah, dreary me," he said to himself.

"Can I do anything for you?" Prim went on. "Aren't you rather cold here?"

"How you go on!" the Tracker Jacker said in a peevish tone. "Worrity, worrity! There never was such a child."

Prim felt rather offended at this answer and was very nearly walking on and leaving him, but she thought to herself _Perhaps it's only pain that makes him so cross._ So she tried once more. "Won't you let me help you round to the other side? You'll be out of the cold wind there."

The Tracker Jacker took her arm and let her help him round the tree, but when he got settled down again, he only said as before, "Worrity, worrity! Can't you leave a body alone?"

"Would you like me to read you a bit of this?" Prim went on as she picked up a newspaper that had been lying at his feet.

"You may read it if you've a mind to," the Tracker Jacker said rather sulkily. "Nobody's hindering you that I know of."

So Prim sat down by him and spread out the paper on her knees, reading aloud. "Latest News. The Exploring Party have made another tour in the Pantry and have found five new lumps of white sugar, large and in fine condition. In coming back—"

"Any brown sugar?" the Tracker Jacker interrupted.

Prim hastily ran her eye down the paper and said, "No. It says nothing about brown."

"No brown sugar," grumbled the Tracker Jacker. "A nice exploring party."

"In coming back," Prim went on reading, "they found a lake of treacle. The banks of the lake were blue and white, and looked like china. While tasting the treacle, they had a sad accident: two of their party were engulphed—"

"Were what?" the Tracker Jacker asked in a very cross voice.

"En-gulph-ed," Prim repeated, dividing the word into syllables.

"There's no such word in the language," said the Tracker Jacker.

"It's in this newspaper, though," Prim said a little timidly.

"Let it stop there," said the Tracker Jacker fretfully, turning away his head.

Prim put down the newspaper. "I'm afraid you're not well," she said in a soothing tone. "Can't I do anything for you?"

"It's all along of the wig," the Tracker Jacker said in a much gentler voice.

"Along of the wig?" Prim repeated, quite pleased to find that he was recovering his temper.

"You'd be cross too if you'd a wig like mine," the Tracker Jacker went on. "They jokes at one. And they worrits one. And then I gets cross. And I gets cold. And I gets under a tree. And I gets a yellow handkerchief. And I ties up my face—as at the present."

Prim looked pityingly at him. "Tying up the face is very good for the toothache," she said.

"And it's very good for the conceit," added the Tracker Jacker.

Prim didn't catch the word exactly. "Is that a kind of toothache?" she asked.

The Tracker Jacker considered a little. "Well, no," he said. "It's when you hold up your head...so...without bending your neck."

"Oh, you mean stiff-neck," said Prim.

The Tracker Jacker said, "That's a new-fangled name. They called it conceit in my time."

"Conceit isn't a disease at all," Prim remarked.

"It is, though," the Tracker Jacker said, untying the handkerchief as he spoke. "Wait till you have it, and then you'll know. And when you catches it, just try tying a yellow handkerchief round your face. It'll cure you in no time."

Prim looked at his exposed wig in great surprise. It was bright yellow like the handkerchief, all tangled and tumbled about like a heap of seaweed. "You could make your wig much neater," she said. "If only you had a comb."

"What, you're a Bee, are you?" the Tracker Jacker said, looking at her with more interest. "And you've got a comb. Much honey?"

"Not a honeycomb," Prim hastily explained. "It's to comb hair with. Your wig's so very rough, you know."

"I'll tell you how I came to wear it," the Tracker Jacker said. "When I was young, you know, my ringlets used to wave."

A curious idea came into Prim's head. Almost every one she had met had repeated poetry to her, and she thought she would try if the Tracker Jacker couldn't do it too. "Would you mind saying it in rhyme?" she asked very politely.

"It ain't what I'm used to," said the Tracker Jacker; "however, I'll try. Wait a bit." He was silent for a few moments and then began again:

"When I was young, my ringlets waved  
And curled and crinkled on my head:  
And then they said 'You should be shaved,  
And wear a yellow wig instead.'

But when I followed their advice,  
And they had noticed the effect,  
They said I did not look so nice  
As they had ventured to expect.

They said it did not fit, and so  
It made me look extremely plain:  
But what was I to do, you know?  
My ringlets would not grow again.

So now that I am old and gray,  
And all my hair is nearly gone,  
They take my wig from me and say  
'How can you put such rubbish on?'

And still, whenever I appear,  
They hoot at me and call me 'Pig!'  
And that is why they do it, dear,  
Because I wear a yellow wig."

"I'm very sorry for you," Prim said heartily, "and I think if your wig fitted a little better, they wouldn't tease you quite so much."

"Your wig fits very well," the Tracker Jacker murmured, looking at her with an expression of admiration. "It's the shape of your head as does it. Your jaws ain't well shaped though; I should think you couldn't bite well?"

Prim began with a little scream of laughter, which she turned into a cough as well as she could. At last, she managed to say gravely, "I can bite anything I want."

"Not with a mouth as small as that," the Tracker Jacker persisted. "If you was a-fighting now, could you get hold of the other one by the back of the neck?"

"I'm afraid not," said Prim.

"Well, that's because your jaws are too short," the Tracker Jacker went on, "but the top of your head is nice and round." He took off his own wig as he spoke and stretched out one claw towards Prim as if he wished to do the same for her, but she kept out of reach and would not take the hint. So he went on with his criticisms. "Then your eyes, they're too much in front, no doubt. One would have done as well as two if you must have them so close."

Prim did not like having so many personal remarks made on her, and as the Tracker Jacker had quite recovered his spirits and was getting very talkative, she thought she might safely leave him. "I think I must be going on now," she said. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye, and thank-ye," said the Tracker Jacker.

And Prim tripped down the hill again, quite pleased that she had gone back and given a few minutes to making the poor old creature comfortable. "The Eighth Square at last," she cried as she bounded across.

 **. . . . . . .**

 **. . . . . .**

 **. . . . . . .**

Throwing herself down, Prim took a moment to rest on a lawn, which was as soft as moss with little flower-beds dotted about here and there.

"Oh, how glad I am to get here. And what _is_ this on my head?" she exclaimed in a tone of dismay as she put her hands up to something very heavy that fitted tight all round her head.

"But how _can_ it have got there without my knowing it?" she said to herself as she lifted it off and set it on her lap to make out what it could possibly be.

It was a golden crown.


	21. Queen Prim

**CHAPTER IX: Queen Prim**

"Well, this _is_ grand," said Prim. "I never expected I should be a Queen so soon, and I'll tell you what it is, your Majesty," she went on in a severe tone (she was always rather fond of scolding herself), "it'll never do for you to be lolling about on the grass like that. Queens have to be dignified, you know."

So she got up and walked about, rather stiffly just at first, as she was afraid that the crown might come off. But she comforted herself with the thought that there was nobody to see her. "And if I really am a Queen," she said as she sat down again, "I shall be able to manage it quite well in time."

Everything was happening so oddly that she didn't feel a bit surprised at finding Queen Coin and Queen Wiress sitting close to her, one on each side. She would have liked very much to ask them how they came there, but she feared it would not be quite civil. However, there would be no harm, she thought, in asking if the game was over. "Please, would you tell me," she began, looking timidly at President Coin, who was dressed from head to toe in Red.

"Speak when you're spoken to," President Coin sharply interrupted her.

"But if everybody obeyed that rule," said Prim, who was always ready for a little argument, "and if you only spoke when you were spoken to while the other person always waited for _you_ to begin, you see, nobody would ever say anything. So that—"

"Ridiculous!" cried President Coin. "Why, don't you see, child—" Here she broke off with a frown, and after thinking for a minute, suddenly changed the subject of the conversation. "What do you mean by 'If you really are a Queen'? What right have you to call yourself so? You can't be a Queen, you know, till you've passed the proper examination. And the sooner we begin it, the better."

"I only said _if_ ," poor Prim pleaded in a piteous tone.

The two Queens looked at each other, and President Coin remarked with a little shudder, "She _says_ she only said _if_ —"

"But she said a great deal more than that," Wiress moaned, nervously rubbing her hands over her white flowing dress. " _Ooh_ , ever so much more than that."

"So you did, you know," President Coin said to Prim. "Always speak the truth, think before you speak, and write it down afterwards."

"I'm sure I didn't mean—" Prim was beginning when the president interrupted her impatiently.

"That's just what I complain of! You _should_ have meant! What do you suppose is the use of child without any meaning? Even a joke should have some meaning, and a child's more important than a joke, I hope. You couldn't deny that even if you tried with both hands."

"I don't deny things with my _hands_ ," Prim objected.

"Nobody said you did," said President Coin. "I said you couldn't if you tried."

"She's in that state of mind," said Wiress, "that she wants to deny _something_ , only she doesn't know what to deny."

"A nasty, vicious temper," President Coin remarked, and then there was an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.

The woman in red broke the silence by saying to her counterpart in white, "I invite you to Prim's dinner-party this afternoon."

Wiress smiled feebly and said, "And I invite _you_."

"I didn't know I was to have a party at all," said Prim, "but if there is to be one, I think _I_ ought to invite the guests."

"We gave you the opportunity of doing it," President Coin remarked, "but I daresay you've not had many lessons in manners yet?"

"Manners are not taught in lessons," said Prim. "Lessons teach you to do sums and things of that sort."

"And do you do addition?" Wiress asked. "What's one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one?"

"I don't know," said Prim. "I lost count."

"She can't do addition," President Coin interrupted. "Can you do subtraction? Take nine from eight."

"Nine from eight I can't, you know," Prim replied very readily. "But—"

"She can't do subtraction," said Wiress. "Can you do division? Divide a loaf by a knife; what's the answer to that?"

"I suppose—" Prim was beginning when President Coin answered for her. "

Bread-and-butter, of course. Try another subtraction sum. Take a bone from a dog; what remains?"

Prim considered. "Of course, the bone wouldn't remain if I took it, and the dog wouldn't remain since it would come to bite me, and I'm sure I shouldn't remain."

"Then you think nothing would remain?" asked President Coin.

"I think that's the answer."

"Wrong, as usual," said President Coin. "The dog's temper would remain."

"But I don't see how—"

"Why, look here," President Coin cried. "The dog would lose its temper; wouldn't it?"

"Perhaps it would," Prim replied cautiously.

"Then if the dog went away, its temper would remain," President Coin exclaimed triumphantly.

Prim said, as gravely as she could, "They might go different ways." But she couldn't help thinking to herself, _What dreadful nonsense we 'are' talking!_

"She can't do sums a _bit_!" the Red and White Queens said together with great emphasis.

"Can _you_ do sums?" Prim said, turning suddenly to the White Queen, for Wiress didn't like being found fault with so much.

The Queen gasped and shut her eyes. "I can do addition if you give me time, but I can't do subtraction under _any_ circumstances."

"Of course you know your A B C?" asked President Coin.

"To be sure I do," said Prim.

"So do I," Wiress whispered. "We'll often say it over together, dear. And I'll tell you a secret: I can read words of one letter. Isn't _that_ grand. However, don't be discouraged; you'll come to it in time."

Here President Coin began again. "Can you answer useful questions?" she asked. "How is bread made?"

"I know _that_ ," Prim cried eagerly. "You take some flour—"

"Where do you pick the flower?" Wiress asked. "In a garden, or in the hedges?"

"Well, it isn't _picked_ at all," Prim explained. "It's _ground_ —"

"How many acres of ground?" Wiress asked. "You mustn't leave out so many things."

"Fan the girl's head," President Coin anxiously interrupted. "She'll be feverish after so much thinking." So the Red and White Queens set to work and fanned her with bunches of leaves till she had to beg them to leave off, for it blew her hair about so.

"She's all right again now," said President Coin. "Do you know Languages? What's the French for fiddle-de-dee?"

"Fiddle-de-dee's not English," Prim replied gravely.

"Who ever said it was?" said the red woman.

Prim thought she saw a way out of the difficulty this time. "If you'll tell me what language 'fiddle-de-dee' is, I'll tell you the French for it," she exclaimed triumphantly.

But President Coin drew herself up rather stiffly and said, "Queens never make bargains."

 _I wish Queens never asked questions_ , Prim thought to herself.

"Don't let us quarrel," Wiress said in an anxious tone. "What is the cause of lightning?"

"The cause of lightning," Prim said very decidedly, for she felt quite certain about this, "is the thunder—no, no!" she hastily corrected herself. "I meant the other way."

"It's too late to correct it," said President Coin. "When you've once said a thing, that fixes it, and you must take the consequences."

"Which reminds me...," Wiress said, looking down while nervously clasping and unclasping her hands, "…we had _such_ a thunderstorm last Tuesday; I mean one of the last set of Tuesdays, you know."

Prim was puzzled. "In _our_ country," she remarked, "there's only one day at a time."

President Coin said, "That's a poor thin way of doing things. Now _here_ , we mostly have days and nights, two or three at a time; and sometimes in the winter, we take as many as five nights together, for warmth, you know."

"Are five nights warmer than one night, then?" Prim ventured to ask.

"Five times as warm, of course."

"But they should be five times as _cold_ , by the same rule—"

"Just so," cried President Coin. "Five times as warm, _and_ five times as cold, just as I'm five times as rich as you are, and five times as clever."

Prim sighed and gave it up. _It's exactly like a riddle with no answer,_ she thought.

"Caesar Flickerman saw it too," Wiress went on in a low voice—more as if she were talking to herself. "He came to the door with a corkscrew in his hand—"

"What did he want?" interrupted President Coin.

"He said he _would_ come in," Wiress went on, "because he was looking for a hippopotamus. Now, as it happened, there wasn't such a thing in the house…that morning."

"Is there generally?" Prim asked in an astonished tone.

"Well, only on Thursdays," said Wiress.

"I know what he came for," said Prim. "He wanted to punish the fish, because—"

Here, Wiress imprudently began again. "It was _such_ a thunderstorm, you can't think." ("She _never_ could, you know," said President Coin.) "And part of the roof came off, and ever so much thunder got in, and it went rolling round the room in great lumps, knocking over the tables and things till I was so frightened that I couldn't remember my own name."

Prim thought to herself, _I never should 'try' to remember my name in the middle of an accident. Where would be the use of it?_ But she did not ask this aloud for fear of hurting the poor Queen's feeling.

"Your Majesty must excuse her," President Coin said to Prim, taking one of the White Queen's hands in her own and gently stroking it. "Wiress means well, but she can't help saying foolish things, as a general rule."

Wiress looked timidly at Prim, who felt she _ought_ to say something kind but really couldn't think of anything at the moment.

"She never was really well brought up," President Coin went on. "But it's amazing how good-tempered she is. Pat her on the head and see how pleased she'll be."

But this was more than Prim had courage to do.

"A little kindness, and putting her hair in papers, would do wonders with her."

Wiress gave a deep sigh and laid her head on Prim's shoulder. "I _am_ so sleepy?" she moaned.

"She's tired, poor thing," said President Coin. "Smooth her hair, lend her your nightcap, and sing her a soothing lullaby."

"I haven't got a nightcap with me," said Prim as she tried to obey the first direction. "And I don't know any soothing lullabies."

"I must do it myself then," said President Coin, and she began:

'Hush-a-by lady, in Prim's lap!

Till the feast's ready, we've time for a nap:

When the feast's over, we'll go to the ball—

Red Queen, and White Queen, and Prim, and all!

"And now you know the words," President Coin added as she put her head down on Prim's other shoulder. "Just sing it through to _me_. I'm getting sleepy, too."

In another moment, both Queens were fast asleep and snoring loud.

"What _am_ I to do?" exclaimed Prim, looking about in great perplexity as one round head followed by the other, rolled down from her shoulder and lay like a heavy lump in her lap. "I don't think it _ever_ happened before, that anyone had to take care of two Queens asleep at once. No, not in all the History of England, it couldn't, you know, because there never was more than one Queen at a time. Do wake up, you heavy things!" she went on in an impatient tone.

But there was no answer other than gentle snoring. The snoring got more distinct every minute and sounded more like a tune.

At last, Prim could even make out the words, and she listened so eagerly that when the two great heads vanished from her lap, she hardly missed them.

She was standing before an arched doorway over which were the words _QUEEN PRIM_ in large letters, and on each side of the arch, there was a bell-handle: one was marked _Visitors' Bell_ , and the other _Servants' Bell_.

 _I'll wait till the song's over_ , thought Prim. "And then I'll ring...the... _which_ bell must I ring?" she went on, very much puzzled by the names. "I'm not a visitor, and I'm not a servant. There _ought_ to be one marked _Queen_ , you know."

Just then, the door opened a little way, and a creature with a long beak put its head out for a moment and said, "No admittance till the week after next," shutting the door again with a bang.

Prim knocked and rang in vain for a long time, but at last, a very old Frog who was sitting under a tree got up and hobbled slowly towards her. He was dressed in bright yellow and had enormous boots on.

"What is it, now?" the Frog said in a deep hoarse whisper.

Prim turned round, ready to find fault with anybody. "Where's the servant whose business it is to answer the door?" she began angrily.

"Which door?" asked the Frog.

Prim almost stamped with irritation at the slow drawl in which he spoke. " _This_ door, of course!"

The Frog looked at the door with his large dull eyes for a minute; then he went nearer and rubbed it with his thumb, as if he were trying whether the paint would come off; then he looked at Prim.

"To answer the door?" he said. "What's it been asking of?" He was so hoarse that Prim could scarcely hear him.

"I don't know what you mean," she said.

"I talks English, doesn't I?" the Frog went on. "Or are you deaf? What did it ask you?"

"Nothing!" Prim said impatiently. "I've been knocking at it!"

"Shouldn't do that; shouldn't do that," the Frog muttered. "Vexes it, you know." Then he went up and gave the door a kick with one of his great feet. "You let _it_ alone," he panted out as he hobbled back to his tree, "and it'll let _you_ alone, you know."

At this moment, the door was flung open and a shrill voice was heard singing:

"To the Looking-Glass world it was Prim that said,  
'I've a sceptre in hand, I've a crown on my head;  
Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be,  
Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me.'"

And hundreds of voices joined in the chorus:

"Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can,  
And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran:  
Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea—  
And welcome Queen Prim with thirty-times-three!"

Then followed a confused noise of cheering, and Prim thought to herself, _Thirty times three makes ninety. I wonder if any one's counting?_ In a minute, there was silence again, and the same shrill voice sang another verse:

"'O Looking-Glass creatures,' quoth Prim, 'draw near!  
'Tis an honour to see me, a favour to hear:  
'Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea  
Along with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!'"

Then came the chorus again:

"Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink,  
Or anything else that is pleasant to drink:  
Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine—  
And welcome Queen Prim with ninety-times-nine!"

"Ninety times nine!" Prim repeated in despair, "Oh, that'll never be done. I'd better go in at once."

And there was a dead silence the moment Prim appeared. She glanced nervously along the table as she walked up the large hall, noticing that there were about fifty guests of all kinds: some were animals, some birds, and there were even a few flowers among them. _I'm glad they've come without waiting to be asked_ , she thought. _I should never have known who were the right people to invite._

There were three chairs at the head of the table. The Red and White Queens had already taken two of them, but the middle one was empty. Prim sat down in it, appearing rather uncomfortable in the silence—and longing for someone to speak.

At last, President Coin began. "You've missed the soup and fish," the red woman said. "Put on the joint."

When the waiters set a leg of mutton before Prim, she looked at it rather anxiously as she had never had to carve a joint before.

"You look a little shy. Let me introduce you to that leg of mutton," said President Coin. "Prim, Mutton; Mutton, Prim."

The leg of mutton got up in the dish and made a little bow to Prim; and Prim returned the bow, not knowing whether to be frightened or amused.

"May I give you a slice?" Prim said, taking up the knife and fork before glancing from one Queen to the other.

"Certainly not," President Coin said very decidedly. "It isn't etiquette to cut any one you've been introduced to. Remove the joint."

And the waiters carried it off and brought a large plum-pudding in its place.

"I won't be introduced to the pudding, please," Prim said rather hastily, "or we shall get no dinner at all. May I give you some?"

But President Coin looked sulky at her and growled, "Pudding, Prim; Prim, Pudding. Remove the pudding."

And the waiters took it away so quickly that Prim couldn't return its bow.

However, Prim didn't see why President Coin should be the only one to give orders, so as an experiment, she called out, "Waiter, bring back the pudding!"

And there it was again in a moment—like a conjuring-trick. It was so large that she couldn't help feeling a _little_ shy with it, as she had been with the mutton; however, she conquered her shyness by a great effort and cut a slice, handing it to President Coin.

"What impertinence," said the Pudding. "I wonder how you'd like it if I were to cut a slice out of _you_ , you creature."

It spoke in a thick, suety sort of voice, and Prim hadn't a word to say in reply. She could only sit and look at it with a gasp.

"Make a remark," said President Coin. "It's ridiculous to leave all the conversation to the pudding."

"Do you know, I've had such a quantity of poetry repeated to me to-day," Prim began (frightened a little at finding that the moment she opened her lips, there was dead silence with all eyes fixed upon her), "and it's a very curious thing, I think, every poem was about fishes in some way. Do you know why they're so fond of fishes all about here?"

Prim turned to Red Queen, whose answer was a little wide of the mark. "As to fishes," President Coin said slowly and solemnly, putting her mouth close to Prim's ear, "her White Majesty knows a lovely riddle, all in poetry, and all about fishes. Shall she repeat it?"

"Her Red Majesty's very kind to mention it," Wiress murmured into Prim's other ear, in a voice much like the cooing of a pigeon. "It would be _such_ a treat. May I?"

"Please do," Prim said very politely, though reluctantly.

The White Queen laughed with delight and stroked Prim's cheek. Then Wiress began:

'"First, the fish must be caught."  
That is easy: a baby, I think, could have caught it.  
"Next, the fish must be bought."  
That is easy: a penny, I think, would have bought it.

"Now cook me the fish!"  
That is easy, and will not take more than a minute.  
"Let it lie in a dish!"  
That is easy, because it already is in it.

"Bring it here! Let me sup!"  
It is easy to set such a dish on the table.  
"Take the dish-cover up!"  
Ah, _that_ is so hard that I fear I'm unable!

For it holds it like glue—  
Holds the lid to the dish, while it lies in the middle:  
Which is easiest to do,  
Un-dish-cover the fish, or dishcover the riddle?'

"Take a minute to think about it and then guess," said President Coin. "Meanwhile, we'll drink your health. To Queen Prim's health!" she screamed at the top of her voice, and all the guests began drinking wine directly.

Very queerly they managed it as some of them put their glasses upon their heads like candle extinguishers and drank all that trickled down their faces. Others upset the decanters and drank the wine as it ran off the edges of the table. And three of them (who looked like kangaroos) scrambled into the dish of roast mutton and began eagerly lapping up the gravy.

 _Just like pigs in a trough!_ thought Prim.

"You ought to return thanks in a neat speech," President Coin said, frowning at Prim as she spoke.

"We must support you, you know," whispered Wiress as Prim obediently got up to do it, the child appearing a little frightened.

"Thank you very much," Prim whispered in reply. "But I can do quite well without."

"That wouldn't be at all the thing," President Coin said very decidedly.

So Prim tried to submit to it with a good grace. In fact, it was rather difficult for her to keep in her place while she made her speech since the two Queens pushed her so, one on each side. They nearly lifted her up into the air.

"I rise to return thanks," Prim began—and she really _did_ rise as she spoke, several inches. But she got hold of the edge of the table and managed to pull herself down again.

"Take care of yourself!" screamed Wiress, who was seizing Prim's hair with both her hands. "Something's going to happen!"

And then all sorts of things happened in a moment. The candles all grew up to the ceiling, looking something like a bed of rushes with fireworks at the top. As to the bottles, they each took a pair of plates, which they hastily fitted on as wings, and so with forks for legs, went fluttering about in all directions.

 _And very like birds they look_ , Prim thought to herself as well as she could in the dreadful confusion that was beginning.

At this moment she heard a hoarse laugh at her side and turned to see what was the matter with the White Queen; however, now sitting at the corner of the table, opposite the White Queen, sat the White King, President Snow.

"Here I am," cried a voice from corner chair beside the Red Queen.

Prim turned again to find her sister's bodyguard, Boggs, nodding knowingly to President Coin before scooting his chair closer to the table.

The din in the room most unexpectedly faded as the space around the table became more open. The two Queens stopped pushing against Prim and took their place at the table without further word. To Prim's astonishment, the two Capitol stylists for District 11 now appeared opposite each other in the seats next to President Snow and Boggs. She then found the table absent of animal guests. People now filled the long table, a table that appeared to be growing in length to accommodate the increasing number of people, some she vaguely knew, others strangers.

An overwhelming calm came over Prim. The young girl slowly returned to her chair and said softly, "I'm never going home, am I?"


	22. Shaking

**CHAPTER X: Shaking**

Wiress lovingly took hold of Prim's hand, gently shaking it before giving it another gentle squeeze. "Not exactly, dear."

Prim's gaze drifted around the table as the answer became evident. "This is my home now, isn't it? I'm...dead."


	23. Waking

**CHAPTER XI: Waking**

When Prim's gaze drifted to President Coin at her side, the red woman's eyes flitted away.

A vision of white light struck Prim, causing the girl to reel back in her chair. Though the sensation only lasted a mere second, a lifetime of memories returned to her, most importantly, recent memories. She focused once again on President Coin. "There was a fire. I died in a fire, I think."

The woman could not bring herself to look at Prim, even as the young girl began glancing about the table.

With a knitted brow, Prim's attention turned to the two Presidents. "Everyone seated at this table is dead, except for you two."

Wiress sat back with a satisfied grin. "Clever girl. But you've gotten one thing wrong: they too are quite dead."

Prim turned to President Snow.

"It's true," said the elderly white haired man. The rebels were going to execute me, but our dear President Coin sitting beside you had the decency to die first. The joy of the moment was more than my heart could bear. I died soon after."

Prim turned to President Coin, who finally met the little girl's angry stare. "It's true. Your sister murdered me in lieu of executing that smug man over there. How embarrassing. Right when I thought I had accomplished my goals, your sister had to go and kill me."

With reddening cheeks, Prim sternly sat up. " _You_ murdered me. Don't try to deny it."

President Coin let out a drawn out sigh. "True. I had actually been hoping that you'd die much sooner, certainly not at the pinnacle moment of the war, in front of everyone no less."

Stunned, Prim fell back in her chair, finding herself wiser by the second. "All of us were children. Thirteen-year-olds cannot be combat medics, dressing wounds, or consoling the dying. We were useless, mentally scared after the first battle."

President Snow glared at his female adversary sitting across from him as he addressed Prim, "Your sister was at risk of being more popular than the rebel president. _Eliminating_ you, dear child, was just another way of destroying your sister. Coin knew from history that children could only be used as soldiers, that is, if brainwashed and drugged. Any idiot can kill if conditioned. Saving lives takes a special person; propaganda and drugs cannot instill this type of fortitude into children."

Prim glared at President Coin.

The red woman began fidgeting with her silverware, aligning the utensils into parallel lines before coolly glancing at President Snow. "You know, I was going to recall the children medics as soon as _she_ was eliminated. I even had a speech ready to praise their enthusiasm and to inform the public that medic duties had to be performed by adults." President Coin began to gaze aimlessly over the shoulders of all those seated at the table, announcing after a long sigh, "Water under the bridge."

Prim grabbed President Coin's arm. "What? How can you say that?"

The red woman smiled reassuringly at Prim. "My dear, the truth can now come out...here. We're all friends now, aren't we?"

"No!" snapped Prim. She listened to her voice echo throughout the large dining hall, focusing on the peculiar reverberation as it faded. She began to study the faces of all those at the table, all patiently watching her in return. The sensations filling her became more noticeable. Not only did her memories rapidly return, a new sense of self-awareness began to infuse inside. Prim could feel her life settling into this new world as she realized that she sat among friends, some who once were enemies. The wiser little girl offered her hand to President Coin in friendship.

The woman smiled as she accepted the girl's hand, patting it lovingly. "Like I said before, I'm terribly sorry. If only we had _this_ wisdom in _that_ world."

"I forgive you," replied Prim. She reached for Wiress's hand and began surveying the table for her sister. "Katniss must still be alive."

President Snow nodded. "Yes. She still has an important role to play, one last thing."

"What?" asked Prim.

"Motherhood." President Snow smiled as he cupped his hands in his lap. "You're now an aunt."

Prim quickly realized the new dynamic of time in Looking-Glass world. "We can play with time here, can't we?"

"Tick tock," said Wiress, causing many of those sitting at the table to chuckle with knowing laughter.

Prim sat very still as her awaking advanced. She held tight onto the hands of the women beside her as boundless knowledge filled her head. And as her understanding of the universe grew, Prim began to question why she found herself in Looking-Glass world.

Sipping from his wine glass, President Snow first broke the long silence, "What's puzzling you, my child?"

"Why… _this?_ Why am I here in this world when there are so _many others_ to choose from? I know there must be a reason, but I cannot put my finger on it."

Wiress tightened her grip on Prim's hand and said with some excitement, " _He_ created this world, for _you!_ He wanted to give you a special welcome."

Prim stared at Wiress for a moment before asking, "Who?"

President Coin stood, gently guiding Prim out of her chair. "Who do you think?" With those words, the woman gestured to a worn door with splintering wood that appeared quite out of place within the grand hall.


	24. Which Dreamed It?

**CHAPTER XII: Which Dreamed it?**

Prim slowly walked past President Coin and towards the door. However, she paused to look back when she reached for the handle, finding everyone at the table smiling back at her. When Wiress wave excitedly for Prim to go forth, the little girl took a deep breath and proceeded to open the door.

Passing through, she found herself entering her childhood home in the Seam, a home that had been destroyed by the war.

In the back of the room, a kneeling man busily stoked the fire in a round cast iron wood stove. He gingerly closed the metal door and rose to his feet. He smiled at her just as he had before, whenever she and her sister had returned from outings.

Free of doubt, Prim did not wait for the man to ask about her day, or give some other affectionate greeting. The girl joyfully sprung forward into the waiting arms of her father.

—

A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky

BY LEWIS CARROLL

A boat beneath a sunny sky,  
Lingering onward dreamily  
In an evening of July—

Children three that nestle near,  
Eager eye and willing ear,  
Pleased a simple tale to hear—

Long has paled that sunny sky:  
Echoes fade and memories die.  
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,  
Alice moving under skies  
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,  
Eager eye and willing ear,  
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,  
Dreaming as the days go by,  
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream—  
Lingering in the golden gleam—  
Life, what is it but a dream?

 **THE END**

Author's note: As always, free ebook versions of this can be found at www DOT stuartpidasso DOT com. Thank you!


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